Man of Dreams
by ckret2
Summary: Hashirama put his highest hopes, dreams, and delusions into Konoha's creation. One was that, maybe, Madara didn't really hate him. Another was that, maybe, he didn't really love Madara. From Konoha's birth to the First Hokage's death. Onesided HashiMada.
1. Romantic Meets Cynic: Year Zero

A/N: This is a one-sided Hashirama/Madara fic. It's stuffed with angst and occasionally sprinkled with (mostly dark) humor, it thrives on a crazy borderline stream-of-consciousness style, it has a pretty darn unreliable narrator, and it attempts to be fairly canon-friendly. Rating is for cursing, some semi-graphic sexual stuff, eventual alcoholism, and a freak-ton of despair—you know, all the good stuff.

This fic also is a bit of an attempt to deconstruct common slash fic tropes (and if that sentence didn't make sense to you, I recommend googling for "TVTropes" and you'll never again be bored). Particularly, I'm throwing out some assumptions a lot of slash fics have, such as the main characters even knowing what homosexuality _is_. Mainly because I love writing stuff that royally screws around with gender/sexuality dynamics, and also because things aren't as interesting when everything's easy. It's gonna be exciting, folks!

The whole fic's already written. It's 24 chapters and about 83,000 words. Since it's already finished, I can guarantee this fic shall not spontaneously die in the middle, go on endless hiatus, and never be updated again. So you readers who worry about starting to read an "incomplete" fic for fear that the author will give up before the end? Not a problem here, I won't leave you guys hanging. I plan on posting a chapter a week, preferably on Fridays, because I like Friday.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, as are any other thoughts, comments, or critiques.

Disclaimer: _Naruto_ and all associated characters, story elements, and so on are property of Masashi Kishimoto. I own only this particular story, although I doubt Kishimoto would want it anyway.

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_**Man of Dreams**_

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_Romantic Meets Cynic_

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They knew every inch of each other's bodies. They knew each other's bodies as well as they knew their own.

Each knew the other's skin, his eyes, his hair. Each knew the other's voice, what he sounded like when he murmured, what he sounded like when he screamed himself hoarse.

Each knew the other's sensitive spots. Each knew how to make the other sweat, how to make the other pant, how to make the other moan.

Each knew—as no one else in the world could know—how the other one _moved_. Each knew how the other's muscles flexed, slackened, tensed. Each knew the other at his very best, breathing hard, limbs trembling, every muscle moving and pulling, that unending and exhausting and intoxicating rhythm.

They knew how to respond to each other, how to move as _one_, how to compliment each other exactly. Perfectly.

They knew each other thoroughly, consummately, and intimately.

On the battlefield.

And only on the battlefield.

This is a discussion of their combat tactics.

Obviously.

It didn't mean anything else. One must know one's enemy; the better one knows one's enemy, the better one may fight him. If they hadn't known each other so well, neither could have survived so many battle with each other. It was a matter of survival. It was a matter of necessity, of life and death. In order to protect themselves and their clans, they had _needed_ to have that knowledge of each other.

So was it really so strange—

Oh, please, _please_, don't think of that, don't think about...

... Was it really so strange, even now, even when they were allies, even when they hadn't fought each other in so, so long...

Was it really so strange for Hashirama to still have that same obsession? Was it really so strange for that too, too intimate knowledge to rise up in his mind, with such alarming frequency, whenever the co-founder of his village was around, and whenever he _wasn't_ around?

And was it really so unusual if he woke up, night after night, from dreams about that body he knew so well, too well? And was it so unusual if he woke up from those dreams hot and sweaty and sticky, just as if he had returned from a battle, only... different?

Was it so unnatural if he still found himself studying that body, because what's the point of knowing so much and not knowing _everything?_ Was it so unnatural if he _wanted_ to know everything, even if it had nothing to do with battle anymore, even if he didn't want use it for battle?

And was it so unacceptable, if, if he, if he... if he wanted, if he _longed_ to put that knowledge to good use, because what's the point of knowing so much and never using it? Was it so unacceptable if he yearned to put it to some _other_ purpose?

And then, and then, after all of that, was it so abominable if he _wanted_ to, _needed_ to, _lusted_ to—

No. No. It was not. It was all perfectly...

Oh please why why _why_ couldn't he get these thoughts out of his—

No. _No_, there was _nothing_ wrong with it! They had been enemies! They had fought each other and fought each other and fought each other dozens and hundreds of times! Of course there would be some effect on the way Hashirama thought about him now! It was all perfectly normal! There. Was. Nothing. _Nothing_. Wrong. With. Him.

This is what Hashirama told himself, over and over. So he would remind himself as he sat, for minutes at a time, on bad days for hours at a time; so he would remind himself, just to keep himself from going crazy with horror and disgust and self-loathing (because wasn't it abominable, wasn't it abhorrent, wasn't it atrocious and appalling and nauseating).

So Hashirama told himself whenever he woke up in the middle of the night from another dream and found that in some half-doze, when he was aware of his body but not of his actions, that somehow his hand had drifted down to—

So Hashirama told himself whenever _that_ man (on some rare, rare occasion) actually _smiled_, and something light and shivery and shimmery shot up from below his stomach and some rebellious delirious voice hissed _that smile that SMILE I think I'm in_—

So Hashirama told himself whenever someone asked him when he would _settle down_ and was it true he hadn't _been with someone_ yet and he had to stop himself from saying of course he had _been with someone_, but how could anyone else's body compare to—

So Hashirama told himself whenever his enemy, his co-founder came up to him and said something and the words disappeared and all that was left was the mouth moving moving and all he wanted to do was lean towards that face and that mouth and—

_This_ is what Hashirama told himself. Over and over. And over and over and over. They had been enemies. To ensure their own survival—and the survival of their families, their friends, their clans—they had needed to understand each other on a level far deeper than any normal human relationship.

It was all... perfectly... normal.

Therefore: because each had needed to analyze the other's tactical procedures and combat capabilities, Hashirama now wanted to fuck Uchiha Madara six ways from Sunday.

... Somehow, when he looked at it that way, even Hashirama couldn't buy into his own reasoning.

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**Year Zero**

The Year He Met Madara

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It is a little-known fact that Hashirama founded Konoha not to save his allies from death on the battlefield, nor to save his friends, nor his family—but to save his enemy.

After all, as long as Hashirama lived, he would give everything he had to protect his allies, his friends, his family. He would give his own life. But how could he save his enemy, the man he was ordered to kill, the man who threatened the safety of Hashirama's own family, friends, allies? The only way to save him was by making him an ally as well.

Of course, there was always more than one enemy Hashirama had to consider. But anyone who has gotten this far should know damn well which enemy he really wanted to protect.

It didn't begin like that. When Madara first showed up on the battlefield against Hashirama, he was just another one of many ninja, just a stranger with fiery eyes, so young, too young for war in Hashirama's opinion (never mind that they were probably about the same age, if he had to guess). That stranger with those so bright Uchiha eyes might survive _this_ encounter with the Senju, but he would not survive many more, for nobody ever did—their clan were just too strong, Hashirama was just too strong.

But he kept showing up. And very soon and all too fast, he was not just another child thrust into a warrior's costume. And then Hashirama started hearing details about this man, rumors and legends about this Uchiha, this Uchiha who was even more powerful than the others—a prodigy among a clan of prodigies—and at last he heard a name. Madara. Madara.

And he kept showing up. And fairly soon, when preparing for combat, Hashirama could no longer come up with a battle plan without specifically coming up with an anti-Madara plan. And from the way he fought, Hashirama soon realized Madara was doing the same thing.

They weren't the only two involved in this rivalry. Naturally. Tobirama spent all his free time learning and mastering new Water Release techniques specifically to counter the Uchiha clan's Fire Release. The Uchiha clan took to razing all the plant life around their outposts just to make combat more difficult for the Senju clan to use their beloved trick of vanishing among the trees.

But through all of that, it always felt like only the two of them mattered. At least, it did to Hashirama. They reached a point where, whenever a battle began, neither would jump right in; they would scan the battlefield, searching for each other. And when their gazes inevitably locked (when Hashirama found those red eyes), they would head straight for each other. Nothing else existed.

Once, someone tried to take advantage of this—someone attacked Madara while he was still making his way across the battlefield to begin the _real_ fight. Hashirama was almost as surprised as Madara, but Madara turned and immediately attacked his assailant. For one crazy moment, Hashirama almost attacked the assailant, too. And he probably would have, if he hadn't noticed just in time that the assailant was Tobirama.

It was lucky Madara was the one ambushed; if it had been Hashirama, he never would have noticed. Afterward, even when fighting each other, both (barely) remained aware of the possibility of outside opponents cutting into their dance. (For that was what it was; despite the complexities of battle, the other combatants, the mission objectives and the desperation of the struggle and the fight to survive and the need to be victorious, in Hashirama's mind, he always thought of _his_ little part of every Senju/Uchiha battle as a dance. When he would later see performances by civilian dancers, he would find them wholly uninteresting, and he wouldn't understand why.)

Hashirama spent a long time wondering what that meant, that Madara had still been aware enough to notice an assailant, whereas Hashirama knew quite well he himself wouldn't have noticed a thing until it was too late. He eventually decided it was a Sharingan thing; Madara must have better peripheral vision. It certainly wasn't that Madara didn't care about Hashirama as much as Hashirama cared about him.

... "Care"? Where had that come from?

That evening, Hashirama had barely been able to speak to his brother—not from anger, not from embarrassment, but... he didn't know why. Even when Tobirama chided him for being so unaware on the battlefield that he hadn't taken advantage of Tobirama's assistance, he didn't say anything in return. What _could_ he do? Scold Tobirama for attacking Madara? Scold his _brother_ for attacking their _enemy_?

Hashirama and Madara never (really) spoke to each other. But before long Hashirama was sure Madara just... nodded, slightly, in recognition, sometimes, when their gazes locked, when the dances started.

Then one day, before a battle—Hashirama still remembered the day almost perfectly, of course this was a day he'd remember: it was cloudy, they were between two hills, both had small squads, four-on-four—Madara let out a huge sigh, and, with exaggerated exasperation, shouted (it could only have been to Hashirama), "What? _You_ again?"

Hashirama couldn't sleep that night. He stared wide-eyed into the dark, trying to figure out what Madara had meant.

Surely he wasn't _that_ annoyed to see Hashirama again—well, sure, they were enemies (technically?), but why bother pointing it out? It had sounded like—like teasing. Like a joke between old friends.

Was that what it was? Or was it just mockery? Was this just his way of taunting opponents? But, no, that was just too... ridiculous. Surely Uchiha Madara was above such juvenile gibes. (At some point, Hashirama had built up an elaborate mental image of what Madara must _really_ be like, outside of battle. He was as dignified, as courageous and as earnest as a human could be without ascending to godhood. And now, it seemed, he was the sort of man who could come to treat his enemies like friends. Right?)

After _that_ little event, Hashirama had truly started to obsess over Madara. However, obsession was only appropriate. Madara was Hashirama's eternal rival.

And then each had a mission as escorts to two warlords trying to hash out a peace treaty—one demanded Hashirama as a bodyguard, the other demanded Madara. And they had been expected to stand near each other... civilly. Without fighting. And at some point during the peace negotiations, they had spoken to each other. From what Hashirama could remember, it had been... a year, a year since he had first seen the stranger he came to know as Madara.

A whole year, and they had never once spoken with each other.

"I'll... probably..." Hashirama had said (why had he spoken first, why was it so hard to say this, it had to be because Madara was his enemy that had to be it), "probably never have another opportunity to say this, so..."

Madara had looked at him, eyebrows slightly raised to indicate he was paying attention, meeting Hashirama's gaze calmly but suspiciously.

"I just wanted to say, that..." (why was he stumbling over this he probably looked like an idiot he was making a fool of himself in front of Madara _why did he care so much about what Madara thought of him_ focus, focus...) "You're the strongest ninja I've ever known." (What? After all of that, that was _it?_)

Madara had stared at him for another moment, but then a corner of his mouth had quirked up. "Except for yourself?" he'd said, a bit bitterly (or praisingly?).

Hashirama had allowed himself to, just as slightly, smile back. (Had Madara just _complimented_ him? Complimented _him?_) "You're the only one who's ever beaten me in battle." And he had beaten Madara as well, but the contests were always close.

"But it never seems to take." What was that? Resentment or compliment?

"No, I guess not..." And they had started descending into idle chatter. Madara had lost interest, looked away—staring at nothing with those (beautiful, beautiful) red eyes. (Since when had Hashirama thought Madara's eyes were beautiful? ... Or, rather, why had it taken him so long to notice?) He'd needed to say something else. He couldn't have let the conversation end with that. "It makes you wonder what it would take to... end all this, doesn't it?" And now he had Madara's attention again but he just looked puzzled; something else, say something else! "All these fights, this warfare... What will it take to stop it?"

Madara didn't answer for a moment. And when he did, flat, resigned: "One of us has to die."

He didn't know why he was so surprised at the answer—didn't he know it, too? "One of... you mean, you and me?"

"Of _course_." He smiled sardonically, looking away from Hashirama, staring at something in the distance. "Who else?"

"But why? Does it _have_ to end that way?"

"How else? We would both give everything to protect our... our clans..." His smile faded slightly. For a moment, something close to despair crossed his face. "... Or to avenge them." (Hashirama was taken aback. Surely that could only mean—who had Madara lost...?) But his face hardened, the despair (or grief?) disappeared. "As long as one of our clans exists, the other is in danger. One way or another, this has to end in annihilation."

"That can't be the only option." Madara couldn't be the kind of person who believed there were no alternatives. "There has to be another way out. For both of us. All of us."

"And what way is that?" Madara glanced sideways at Hashirama, scowling. "We all move in together and form a big happy family and never fight again?" (Actually, why didn't that sound like a bad idea?) "There's no other way out, Senju." He added, muttering, "I never expected _you_ to be such a romantic."

"Senju"? Just "Senju"? Not even an honorific, just "Senju"?And Hashirama suddenly wondered—did... did Madara even know his name? (Of course he did of course he did everyone in the ninja world knew Hashirama's name, and how could Madara of all people not know Hashirama's name when Hashirama knew his so very well?) And at the same time he kept thinking, why didn't that sound like a bad idea, moving in together and all, what was _wrong_ with Hashirama to think that sounded like a good idea? (That was the first time Hashirama had ever begun to think—still in a half-hearted way, but growing stronger—that there might something wrong with him, although he had certainly felt unease in the past, certainly been uncomfortable at some time or another, he'd never quite known why.) Maybe it was a good idea—but that was ridiculous, how would that work out anyway, did that even make any sense? Senju and Uchiha, together? Operating as one clan? How, how could they possibly? But wouldn't that fix everything? Hashirama wouldn't have to keep fighting Madara, and he wouldn't have to worry every day about his brother, his family, friends, allies, enemy... (Did Madara even know Hashirama's name?) And Hashirama had never expected _him_ to be such a cynic. Who was it he had lost?

All he said in response was "Maybe."

The peace talks had broken down between the two warlords. Hashirama and Madara had been required to fight again.

A few weeks later, Hashirama had offered his own peace treaty to the Uchiha clan. It had, after all, been Madara's idea. In a way.

So why had Madara been so reluctant to take Hashirama's hand? To shake and officially end the warfare? Or had Hashirama just been too eager? _Had_ he been too eager? Had he held on a bit too long, smiled a bit too wide? Had he...

Not until after Konoha was formed did Hashirama realize that, even when the battles were over, he was still obsessed.

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	2. Lightning Striking Trees: Year One

A/N: Only one review over the course of a week. Wow. Thus is the curse of the crack-pairing writer, I suppose! Thank you to the one person who did review, you rock. And for everyone/anyone else who's reading this, I'd appreciate reviews from you too. How do I know if anybody's actually enjoying this if nobody says so?

In other news, apologies for getting this out a day late. (And on only the second chapter, too. That's not a good sign.) I had a rather insane week, which included having an exam that _was not supposed to be on Friday_ relocated to Friday. And thus I had two tests yesterday, one of which wasn't expected. Waaah. No worries, though, I survived! And so here is chapter 2!

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_Lightning Striking Trees_

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**Year One**

The Year He Founded Konoha

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Never for a moment—during all the time he had spent coming up with his grand plan, persuading his own clan to go along with it, bargaining with the Uchiha clan, negotiating with the numerous other clans he hoped would help him—nowhere in all this had he thought about anything other than peace. He just wanted the wars to end. He just wanted to protect everyone he cared about. (And yes, he would now willingly admit that Madara was on that list; why not? Hashirama just cared about everyone, that's all. Not... not like that, phrasing it that way sounded too... arrogant, too self-aggrandizing, but. He could be concerned for humanity in general, couldn't he?) He didn't think about anything but peace. Peace was his goal. Peace and harmony and unity. Unity between Senju and Uchiha. Unity between Hashirama and Madara. (He didn't analyze his own motivation too deeply.) That was all he'd wanted.

And so a bolt of lightning would not have shocked him more than the discovery that Madara suspected him of trying to take control of the Uchiha clan.

He hadn't been anywhere near the (recently almost-unified) Senju/Uchiha clan when he'd found out, either. He had been far northwest, near the mountainous regions, trying to talk another clan into joining this crazy village experiment—a branch of the Yamanaka clan with which the Senju clan had allied a few times in past years. At Madara's insistence, a couple of his own men had accompanied Hashirama and his band to their meeting with the Yamanaka clan. At first Hashirama had thought that was just Madara's way of trying to participate, of saying he supported this as well—that it was no longer just a Senju endeavor, but a joint Senju/Uchiha effort.

Of course, Madara himself still wasn't there. But Hashirama understood. He'd learned, soon after forming this alliance: Madara's younger brother had recently died. That was his excuse—no, that was his _reason_—for not joining Hashirama on his diplomatic missions to the other clans. Certainly, it wasn't because Madara didn't care enough to bother helping this plan succeed. Certainly, it wasn't because he would rather continue waging war than consider allying the Uchiha with the Senju clan. Certainly, it wasn't because Madara wanted to avoid Hashirama. It was because he was still in grieving for his brother. That was fine. Hashirama had a brother, too. He understood. He knew how important a younger brother was, and could only imagine what it would feel like to lose one. Madara could take all the time he needed.

(Hashirama wanted so badly for Madara to be not a reluctant follower, but an equal partner, that he was willing to accept any excuse for Madara's apparent lack of enthusiasm _except_ "he just doesn't like your idea.")

But in any case, in any case—for the first time, Madara had sent a couple of representatives from the Uchiha clan. Hashirama was thrilled. So thrilled, he didn't bother asking why Madara hadn't sent anyone before.

That was fine, he didn't need to ask; they told him anyway.

They were maybe a day out from the Yamanaka compound—at least, from where it was supposed to be, the last time Hashirama had heard. They were in a band of five: three Senju and two Uchiha ninja, the former uncomfortable with the latter (except for Hashirama) and the latter unwilling to speak to the former. Until they briefly split up. The other two Senju scouted ahead for enemy ninja. (Even though Uchiha were much better scouts, the Senju insisted on going instead—despite the treaty, there wasn't a great deal of trust yet. Something Hashirama regretted.) And while the others were gone, leaving the Uchiha behind with Hashirama, they talked to him.

"We apologize for... following along like this, Senju-sama," one of them said, the elder of the two. Byakko, was that his name? "And for Madara's attitude."

Hashirama just smiled and said, "It's not a problem. There's nothing to apologize for." He wasn't just being polite; what _should_ they apologize for? "I'm just glad to have the Uchiha clan's support." And he understood why Madara had been so, so... impolite wasn't the word, unfriendly wasn't the word. Maybe withdrawn. Or sullen—but understandably. He had, after all, lost his brother.

(Hashirama wanted so badly for Madara to be not a cold acquaintance, but a true friend, that he was willing to accept any excuse for Madara's apparent lack of sociability _except_ "he just doesn't like _you_.")

Byakko and his younger partner exchanged a glance. (Hashirama wondered if the Uchiha somehow... said more, saw more than other people did, when they exchanged glances like that. Since they had those eyes.) "And we're glad to offer our support, Senju-sama," he said. "Which is why we are especially sorry for how Madara's taking this."

That didn't make any sense. What was Madara supposed to be taking? "What do you mean?"

Another glance between the two Uchiha; one time could mean anything, the second time meant they knew something he didn't and weren't sure whether they should share it. And so Hashirama lowered his voice and hardened his expression just enough to prove he meant business, and said, "What is it."

It is not highly recommended for one to continue beating around the bush when Senju Hashirama means business. Keep beating that bush and one may find oneself battling a tree.

(Not that Hashirama had so short a temper that he would actually fight two men just for hemming and hawing about some little point. The man had the patience of a mossy rock. But these two were from the Uchiha clan, and they didn't know that yet. It was likely that all they knew was every time they'd seen him in battle, he'd had his serious face on; and every time they'd seen him since proposing the treaty, he'd had his pleasant face on; and right now he had his serious face on. Hashirama had a terrifying serious face.)

"We're... sure you know, that..." the younger of the two (Hiya?) began, glanced at his elder (third time), then back at Hashirama, cleared his throat, and continued, "that Madara didn't willingly agree to this alliance."

_What?_

That wasn't just a slap to the face a punch in the gut a kick in the groin, it wasn't just a blow to the chest a stab in the back a knife in the heart, it was, that was... _what?_ (When he later thought about his reaction to that statement, Hashirama would be stunned at how badly he had been hurt; because what had Hiya said? Only that Madara didn't like his idea—and hell, hell, hadn't it been so _obvious_, how could he _not_ have known that, that...) Madara hadn't willingly agreed to the alliance? (Madara had almost refused to shake Hashirama's hand.) Then... Madara thought it wouldn't succeed? (Madara thought only their deaths could end the warfare.) Then... Madara thought the whole idea was a bad one? (Madara thought Hashirama was a romantic, an _idiot_.) Then... Madara doesn't... (Madara just doesn't like Hashirama, _why did that hurt more than everything else combined?_)

But how, how, how could that even be possible, hadn't Madara responded to Hashirama's proposal saying the Uchiha clan agreed to his idea, hadn't Madara himself arrived to discuss the treaty, hadn't Madara been cordial enough and accommodating enough (and hadn't Hashirama been cordial enough and accommodating enough?) through all the arrangements and with all the terms and hadn't Madara shaken his hand, _hadn't_ he shaken his hand, even if he had hesitated and almost drawn his hand back and set his jaw and lowered his eyes and then let go as soon as possible hadn't he still shaken Hashirama's hand, agreed to it, willingly agreed to it, making this historic decision on behalf of his clan, agreeing to this not just for himself but for his allies, friends, family—hadn't he, _hadn't_ he, how could he _not_ have willingly agreed when so much was at stake as they both knew so well, how could he have _why would he have_ agreed to such a plan, a plan like this, a plan this _enormous_, this _tremendous_, this _revolutionary_ and _visionary_ and _far-fetched_ and _romantic_ and _impractical_ and _impossible_ and _absurd_ and _ridiculous_ and _moronic_ and _insane_ and _stupid stupid STUPID_ what was _wrong_ with Hashirama (and there it was, angrily so angrily, that question "what's wrong with me" that would grow in his mind like a parasite on a tree until it would choke the life out of its host and cause the mighty tree to fall) how could he have been so _stupid_ to think this would work and and—no, it would work it _would_ work it had to work now that he had laid his own clan's safety (and the Uchiha clan's safety and Madara's safety) on the line for this he would make it work, it would be an end to the wars, Hashirama was risking _everything_ on the hope that this plan would work, and why was he risking so much in the first place (because Madara had said "We all move in together and form a big happy family and never fight again") and this had to work and it WOULD work dammit it WOULD because nobody wanted these wars, the fact that so many clans had already signed on was proof, the world was ready for peace.

And that was why this plan had to work and would work, because everyone was so tired of fighting and everybody was ready for it to end and nobody wanted to die and nobody wanted to endanger their allies friends families and even the most battle-hardened had to hope for it to end and even the most jaded cynical cold even Madara had to hope for it to end but _why_ didn't Madara _why_ wouldn't Madara _why_ couldn't he make Madara why why _why_ didn't Madara—

"Why didn't Madara-sama agree?"

He sounded slightly puzzled and maybe concerned. That was all that came out.

Senju Hashirama was a man, certainly, a man with his own emotions and opinions; but he was also a ninja, and a ninja is an entirely different creature from a man. A ninja isn't even a creature; it is a tool. A ninja does not feel and does not think. A man can have long painful bouts of internal turmoil and self-doubt, but the ninja will don an appropriate mask for the occasion and go on, as if it hadn't just received a kick in the groin, a knife in the heart. A ninja does what it must.

And for the good of both the Senju and the Uchiha, and for the good of the other clans Hashirama was slowly talking into joining in on this plan, he had to know why the future co-founder of this village objected to its very foundation.

"Oh, we don't know." Hiya shook his head, as if the whole situation disgusted him. "You'd think that, you know, after his brother... Well, if Madara was any kind of loving brother, you'd think that he'd want peace for the sake of Izuna's memory, if nothing else. Maybe it's true what they say about Madara and Izuna—"

"_Hiya-kun!_" Byakko snapped. "Don't talk about things you don't know anything about!"

Hiya mumbled some apology, and Hashirama was annoyed at the both of them. What? What _was_ it "they" said about Madara and Izuna? (Who was Izuna, anyway, was that the name of Madara's younger brother? Hashirama should know this. What a thing for him to not know about Madara, the soon-to-be co-founder of their—yes, _their_—village.) He supposed he'd have to find out what "they" said some other time.

Byakko turned to Hashirama and bowed slightly. "I apologize for Hiya's insolence, Senju-sama."

"Don't worry about it." As much as Hashirama respected elders, sometimes they were too caught up in formality. And, hence, infuriating. Even a mossy rock can wish the elderly would get to the point. (Hashirama preferred kids.) "But, what about Madara-sama?" (Did he sound too eager?)

"He's just..." Byakko sighed. "As the leader of the Uchiha clan... well, you can understand, he hasn't been the leader for very long, he's probably still, ah... uncertain, in his role," (oh couldn't he just _get to the point_) "and he has... concerns."

Hashirama nodded patiently. (And stopped himself from snapping, "Oh, really? I had _no_ idea.") "What kind of concerns?"

Something something something Hashirama couldn't remember all the other annoying little trivial words Byakko said to assure Hashirama that the majority of the Uchiha clan felt differently and that he was sorry for such disrespect and that and this and that and these and those before he finally got to the point, and the point was all Hashirama remembered, and would remember for all his life, and the point was "Madara is worried that you... well, your clan might have engineered all this as a way to... to take over the our clan."

The pain Hashirama had felt just moments earlier was nothing.

Nothing.

Compared to this.

A bolt of lightning.

Knowing Madara thought...

And about _Hashirama_.

(The shock must have shown on his face; he may have been a ninja but he was also still a man. But he didn't remember anything they said to him after that. He somehow remembered learning Byakko and Hiya had been sent along not so Madara could show his support, not as a gesture of alliance—but so Madara could spy upon Hashirama and make sure he wasn't plotting against the Uchiha clan behind their backs.)

Hashirama would never—

He hadn't even _considered_—

Through all of this, he had never even _thought_ about—

He would never.

(Hashirama didn't get angry at Madara for trying to spy on him, because Hashirama _couldn't_ get mad at Madara. But, honestly, it would have been unreasonable, for Madara was truly doing the right thing: defending his clan. He was just... doing what he had to do to defend his clan. Hashirama would have done the same, if he'd thought for a second that something threatened his clan. But oh it hurt that he thought Hashirama was a threat—perhaps he was a threat, yes, he _was_, but...)

He would never. He would never.

And Madara thought... that he...?

What did Madara think of him?

Did, did Hashirama do something, had something he'd said, done, given Madara the impression that...? Madara was... was just thinking about his clan, Hashirama hadn't done enough to assure him that he... he would never...

What did Madara _think_ of him?

What had Hashirama done wrong?

Hashirama wasn't fully _there_, wasn't quite _mentally_ present, for the rest of the trip to the Yamanaka clan. Even when he was busy with his diplomatic duties, some part of his mind was being eaten by the knowledge that Madara believed Hashirama was trying to take over the Uchiha clan, and he would never he would never but but but why didn't Madara know, what had Hashirama done wrong...? It was always under the surface of his thoughts.

So when the Yamanaka clan (they were just so eager to join) said they would be more than thrilled to ally with the Senju and Uchiha clans for this endeavor but the only concern they had was that they might be required to divulge the secrets of their clan's techniques, if they could just be assured they wouldn't be—

He would never he would never he would NEVER _he would never_ and he would make them understand that was the farthest thing from his thoughts, he would never he would never. It wasn't his intent to take over any of their clans, he didn't want to rule them he didn't want to subjugate them, he just wanted them to come together, he just wanted peace, all he wanted was peace, that was all, that was all that was all. He just wanted to save everyone. He wanted to save his allies and his friends and his family and his clan and the other clans and the whole world and his enemy. He didn't want to rule _anything_. He didn't want to control _anyone_.

He told them because he couldn't tell Madara. Madara wasn't here.

And somehow, he never found the words to tell Madara. How could Hashirama tell him, when he already believed...? He tried, of course he tried, but it never came out right. There was always something else he knew he had to say to Madara, _something_ Hashirama had to tell him, but he never knew what... And he never figured it out. So he would tell the other clans, instead, on the diplomatic missions. That he would never try to take over their clans. He didn't want to control anyone.

And they believed him. And, eager to have peace and harmony in their lives just once, they joined him.

Madara never came along on any of these diplomatic missions. (He was in grieving, Hashirama reminded himself; he's still in grieving, Hashirama would explain to anyone who expressed skepticism or disapproval—and if Senju Hashirama didn't find fault in Uchiha Madara's actions, how could anyone else?)

It wasn't until much later, much much later, that Hashirama would look back on this (this fright, this anguish, this obsession) and wonder why, why had it hurt him so much that Madara didn't trust him? Why _should_ Madara trust him? They barely knew each other. (Didn't they? And here Hashirama felt like he knew Madara so well...) Why was so much of Hashirama's faith in this plan, _his_ plan, invested in what Madara thought about it? It was true, Madara was the co-founder of this village; and it was true, this was a joint Senju/Uchiha venture and so they were equals in this; but... but it was Hashirama's idea and he was the one going out and getting support and organizing the thing and was Madara really part of it at all, or was Hashirama just saying Madara was part of it because he wanted him to be... No, no, no, Madara was part of this too, Hashirama certainly wasn't in this alone. They had shaken hands on it. Of course, Madara wasn't going out and getting support because his brother had just died, he was still in grieving, if he hadn't been—

And, once again, Hashirama would talk himself into forgetting that Madara hadn't willingly agreed to the alliance (yet how could he have unwillingly agreed?) and he thought Hashirama was trying to take over the Uchiha clan. Why did Hashirama keep talking himself into _ignoring_ that? Why was he so desperate for Madara to like his plan (and him?) that he was willing to repeatedly shove aside the truth?

But this self-analysis would come later, later, much later. Until then, Hashirama would keep trying to use the other clans to vicariously tell Madara he would never, he would never, he only wanted the best for all the clans.

And one after another, the clans joined and joined.

When the time came for them to choose who would lead this new village of theirs, the two contenders were Hashirama and Madara. Hashirama would have been more than glad to share the leadership position. And said so. But... he said so like he was... embarrassed. So quietly. (Only a leader could stand up to an entire village; Hashirama didn't consider himself their leader, so he couldn't really stand up to them.) So they hadn't listened. The people wanted a vote, they wanted one leader.

Madara had never come along on any diplomatic missions. Madara, after all, had been in grieving. (Madara, after all, had not wanted anything to do with this new village.)

But Hashirama had met with every single clan that would make up the new village. He had personally assured every one of them that he would never try to take over their clans and he didn't want to control anyone.

And so a vote was held, and Hashirama—for not wanting to take over their clans and not wanting to control anyone—was named the first leader of their village. Thus, for all practical purposes, he would be taking over their clans and controlling everyone.

The clans had rallied behind him. They had unified thanks to him, because of him. He was the glue holding them together.

So how could he say no? If he said no, it might shatter the fragile little bonds that had tentatively been constructed between these clans. He had to accept this. For peace, he had to. For everyone he cared about, he had to. For his enemy, he had to.

Even if he could feel his enemy's (beautiful, so beautiful...) red eyes on his back, as he accepted the position. Even if he knew those Uchiha eyes that said more, saw more than other eyes would be saying, _I knew it. He said he would never, but I knew he would, and he did._

Peace and harmony, peace and unity, unity between Senju and Uchiha, Hashirama and Madara... that was all he'd wanted, the only thing he'd wanted. Never for a moment had he wanted control over the other clans. He had wanted peace, not conquest. He had wanted love—love?—yes, _love_, like brotherhood, fellowship, basic human love—he had wanted love, not power.

He had been handed power. And he never got love.

(Meanwhile, Madara didn't believe in love, only power. He was never offered the power he wanted—instead he had love offered to him by the handfuls, but for that, he would never shake hands.)

What did Madara think of him _now?_

xxx

(Hashirama would never find this out, but long after his death, there would be a spiral-masked man called Tobi who claimed to be Madara and who _also_ claimed to have left the village the moment Hashirama took power as Hokage.)

(If he'd ever found out, Hashirama would never have understood why Madara would want to deny he had ever been in Konoha while Hashirama was in power. He would have come up with his own theories, of course, all of which would have been very painful, and none of which would have been right.)

xxxxx


	3. An Obedient Leader: Year Two

A/N: Look, it's Friday afternoon. I'm getting this up on time. Yay! Thank you all for your reviews so far, I appreciate them greatly!

The most interesting one I've gotten so far is one from somebody who's been out of fandom for so long they don't even know who Hashirama and Madara are, and they weren't signed in and didn't give an email so I couldn't reply to them. A quick primer in case they come back and/or there's anybody else who found this fic without being up-to-date on canon: Senju Hashirama was the First Hokage, and Uchiha Madara was the leader of the Uchiha clan at that time and the person who supposedly helped Hashirama found Konoha; Madara later thought Hashirama had betrayed him, so he ran off and had a battle with him at the Valley of the End, where he and Hashirama now have some spiffy statues. And now some dude calling himself Madara is the major antagonist of the series. (Spoilers, y'all!) Doing a Google search for either Hashirama or Madara will pop up their Narutopedia articles as the first results, and you can get a more full summary on them from there. (A lot of Madara's article pertains to the actions of the-guy-currently-calling-himself-Madara-who-may-or-may-not-really-be-Madara, so feel free to skim the stuff in his article that it says comes _after_ his battle with Hashirama.) Anyone who's looking them up should probably also look up Senju Tobirama (Hashirama's younger brother and the Second Hokage) and Uzumaki Mito (Hashirama's wife and the first Kyuubi jinchuuriki), both of which can also be found on Narutopedia.

Of course, for the people who aren't caught up, I more strongly recommend reading the manga to find out about these guys. Or watching the anime, it's got most of Konoha's backstory by now, at least in the subs. (Then again, if I couldn't recommend reading/watching the series, I wouldn't be writing Naruto fics...) But Narutopedia works for a decent summary.

As a side note, I'm more than happy to respond to reviews that make particularly interesting comments or that ask questions, but I can't do that if I've got no way to contact the reviewer. Either signed-in or anonymous reviews are just dandy with me, but if you say something that you might like some kind of response to, if you're reviewing without signing in, please at least stick on an email so I know how to get into contact. (And it should be noted that this site deletes email addresses from reviews and PMs if you type them in normally; you should probably format it "username AT somesite DOT com" or something to make sure that it isn't deleted from the review.)

With that out of the way, new chapter, huzzah! Please remember to review and let me know what you think!

xxxxx

_An Obedient Leader_

xxx

**Year Two**

Konoha's First Year

xxx

As soon as Hashirama had been named the leader of this new village, he went looking for Madara.

Not everyone was happy with him over this. In fact, pretty much nobody was, least of all his own clan. Tobirama (who didn't even _like_ the Uchiha clan) tried several times to persuade Hashirama to come instead to the celebration being held for him in the Senju complex. (The clans—much to Hashirama's chagrin—had decided to live in separate, walled-off residential complexes. But Madara had voiced support for the "separate clans" idea, so how could Hashirama have objected? Now that he knew Madara wasn't exactly happy with the idea of the village, Hashirama was going to do whatever it took to _make_ him happy.) So he told Tobirama and the cousin with him that he'd meet them at the complex later on, but there was somebody he needed to find, first.

"Madara-sama?" Tobirama guessed, sighing.

Pause. "Yes. How did you know..."

Another sigh, this one more pronounced. "You've probably spent more time trying to appease him than the rest of the clans combined. We've got the Uchiha clan's support. Who cares if their leader's a grump?"

Hashirama cared. But he didn't think he'd be able to explain why if he were asked for a reason. (_Because somehow it's my fault if he's unhappy. Because I can't be content unless he is. Because I want to see him smile._ Where in the world were those reasons coming from?)

So instead he ignored the question and said again, insistently, "I'll catch up with you later, all right?"

Tobirama gave him a disapproving look, but... what could he say to Hashirama? His elder brother, his clan's head, and now his village's leader? So he just smiled wryly and said, "Just don't start a war with him."

That was the last thing Hashirama wanted.

The Uchiha clan wasn't happy with him either, when he came to the gate of their complex and asked if he could speak with Madara. Even if they had agreed to join with the Senju clan in the creation of this village, they were still a very private bunch. But what could they say to him? The leader of the Senju clan _and_ their village? So they reluctantly said Madara should be on the cliff overlooking the village, he'd said he would be there.

And he was indeed. He was standing at the cliff's edge, arms crossed, staring (glaring?) out across the half-constructed village, completely still. Even though Madara wasn't in his battle armor, Hashirama could imagine he was overlooking a battlefield, analyzing the layout, searching for the best tactical advantage. (The expression was so familiar on Madara that Hashirama didn't even think to be alarmed that he was directing that calculating look at their new village.) Madara apparently didn't notice Hashirama approaching, because he made no move to acknowledge his presence.

But when Hashirama was finally alongside him, and said some little nonsense throwaway phrase of greeting (it was probably something stupid like "Hi" or "Nice view up here"), Madara still didn't so much as glance at him; it occurred to Hashirama that, of course, Madara had seen him coming the whole time, he was an Uchiha after all. He'd just been ignoring Hashirama. (And why shouldn't he ignore him? Hashirama had wanted to create a village where everyone would be safe and equal, not a village where he would rule over all the other clans, and yet that was what had happened. Of course Madara would distrust him afterward, he had every reason in the world to be mad at him, to not want to speak to him... what could Hashirama possibly say to reconcile with Madara?)

"I didn't..." (for a brief moment Hashirama's voice stuck, he didn't know what to say, why was it so hard to speak to Madara, Hashirama never had this trouble with anyone else, then again they had once been enemies, nemeses, that had to be why he was always so nervous around Madara—was it "nervous," then? Was that what he was always feeling around Madara?—he had to say something, speak, _speak_) "I didn't mean for... things to happen like this, you know."

"Is that so." Madara's tone wasn't exactly hostile, but it would be hard to describe it as anything else. (Hashirama chose to focus on the first point and ignore the latter.) He gestured at the village beneath them, and then tightly crossed his arms again. "It seem like things went perfectly according to your plan."

Hashirama decided not to insist it was "_our_ plan"; on some level, he knew he didn't want to hear Madara's response. "I meant the... getting-chosen-leader thing." Oh, didn't that sound brilliant.

"Really. It seems perfect for you." Not even Hashirama could pretend Madara meant that as a compliment, much less as congratulations.

"I didn't ask to be named leader." He hoped he didn't sound too petulant. _Did_ he sound petulant? Or too whiny? Defensive?

"No. You just waltzed around to all the villages, smiled at a few people and made a few reassuring speeches, and let them do the rest."

Hashirama didn't point out that Madara could have done the same thing. He didn't want a fight. Besides, how could he criticize Madara? He hadn't accompanied Hashirama to the other clans because he had been in grieving for his brother. (Either that, or because he for some reason had not "willingly agreed" to the formation of the village. Hashirama still didn't know what that meant and still wanted to know.)

And then Hashirama wondered, awfully, if perhaps he had somehow, unknowingly, taken advantage of Madara's lack of involvement—if he had exploited the opportunity to gain rapport with the clans while Madara could not? Of course, Hashirama knew he hadn't _meant_ to do that, would never have _dreamed_ of doing that, but Madara had no way of knowing this. How could Hashirama criticize Madara for not being involved, how could he find fault in him for blaming Hashirama?

"But I never meant to—" Hell, what could he possibly say to Madara? "I didn't want—I wasn't trying to become the leader! I never wanted that."

"I suppose it's easy to say you didn't want it after you've already got the position." Madara finally turned his head, just enough to shoot a dark glare at Hashirama.

Hashirama inwardly winced. Oh. He had known he'd end up saying _something_ wrong. He had _known_ it. Now Madara thought he didn't even appreciate having been entrusted with this village's leadership. It was so easy to say _I didn't want that,_ so easy to be ungrateful. "I don't mean that I don't think it's an honor, Madara-sama, of course I know it is—"

"And yet," Madara said, raising his voice slightly and continuing on as if Hashirama hadn't said a thing (because why should he care whether or not Hashirama sounded grateful), "for all that you _didn't want_ to be leader, you never said a thing while the village was making its choice."

Hashirama paused, for far too long. How did he respond to the truth? "No," he said. "I didn't."

"Then why," Madara turned to face Hashirama directly, meeting his gaze with his (absolutely beautiful) red eyes, "don't you appoint a leader who wants to lead?" Unspoken but implied, the question in those red Uchiha eyes that saw everything and said so much: _why don't you appoint me leader?_

Hashirama was amazed at how badly (desperately) he wanted to say _yes_. Not only to say that, but to say _yes, yes, YES, please take over._ Not only that, but _if it would make you happy, you can do whatever you want, anything you want._ Not only that, but _I would love nothing more than to be led by you, give me your orders, give me your commands, and I will follow you to the ends of the earth—_

(What what _what_ what WHAT? Oh heavens what was wrong with him, oh hells what was wrong with him, even as these thoughts ran through his mind like a river through a splintered dam, some part of him was observing, silent and horrified and terrified and thinking what are these thoughts where did they come from what is wrong with me wrong with me wrong with me—)

Madara saw something he didn't like in Hashirama's face (some part of his surprise, his fear?) and his expression grew more guarded.

(Hashirama could analyze himself later, Madara was waiting for an answer.)

He couldn't say yes, no matter how badly he wanted to. His wants weren't the priority—and neither were Madara's. The village's needs were greater than their own. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" It was a direct challenge. Angry sparks flared in Madara's eyes. (And suddenly Hashirama had an epiphany: when lovers told their beloveds, "You're even more beautiful when you're angry," they weren't just trying to calm them, it was completely true... where the hell had THAT come from _what was WRONG with him?_)

Trying not to sound rattled (why did Madara's mere presence do this to him), he said, "I—we—the clans—all the clans..." he'd completely failed at not sounding rattled, "This is... such a fragile alliance already, between all these clans. None of them trust each other yet. Right now, the only thing holding them together is..." he couldn't say "me," he would never be that presumptuous, "... the fact that they've all agreed on one leader. That's the one unifying bond between them. I can't destroy that bond."

"How noble of you." Madara's voice dripped with poison, and his eyes said something completely different: _what a beautiful excuse, no one could possibly criticize you for that. But it doesn't matter what you claim your original motivations were—now that you've taken power, now that you've got a taste for it, you're not letting go._ Hashirama wished his eyes were half as expressive so he could actually explain himself to Madara. (Or perhaps he was searching for too much meaning in Madara's eyes; but he barely considered that possibility.) Madara continued, "What makes you so sure you're the people's savior?" In his eyes: _why can't it be me?_

"I don't think I am." What Hashirama wanted to say: _I wish you were their savior._ "I don't want to lead our village," he said. "Our village wants me to lead it."

And somehow, Madara understood that. The rage went out of his eyes, and he grimaced, and silently sighed, but accepted it.

He accepted it. (And later on when Madara's detractors would cry out that he'd never acknowledged Hashirama as the village's proper leader and he'd been a waiting traitor all along, this, this would be the moment to prove them all wrong—yes, he accepted, not only was Senju Hashirama the leader, but he had to be.)

And he turned away from Hashirama again, and stared out over the village. "It's not our village, Senju-sama," he said. "It's yours."

A stab in the heart.

So many things he wanted to say: _I'll share it; I made this village for you; my name is Hashirama, not Senju; why won't you look at me?_ (What was wrong with him?) But he waited for Madara to say something else. And he did not.

And so, because he had to say something now, because he couldn't think of anything better, Hashirama finally asked the question he'd had for months. "I was told that you didn't... didn't 'willingly agree' to ally with my clan." He still remembered the exact phrase. "What does that mean? I'm sure you wouldn't have joined if you'd had misgivings. Right?" Oh, Hashirama hoped so. Actually, he hoped everything had been a big misunderstanding and Madara had loved the idea all along. Ha, ha, ha. "You're the leader of your clan. You wouldn't have decided on something you thought would endanger the Uchiha clan...?"

Madara slowly shook his head. "As the clan leader, I don't decide what the Uchiha clan does," he said. "The Uchiha clan decides what I do."

Didn't that sound familiar...?

Madara seemed to guess what Hashirama was thinking, because he smiled wryly. "It's funny, how rarely being the leader means making the decisions. Isn't it?" His voice turned bitter. "Enjoy it."

Enjoy it? Enjoy what? Rarely making decisions?

Hashirama didn't respond. He just stood alongside Madara, without saying a thing—and when they weren't speaking, just standing together like this, this felt... normal, actually, this felt fine. Maybe they could do this more often, maybe they could do this all the time.

It wasn't until long after Madara had left and headed back down to the village (without a word of farewell, not even so much as a grunt) that it hit Hashirama. For the first time, it really hit him.

"Enjoy it." Enjoy being the leader. Of everyone.

This village he was staring at was _his_ village. He was in charge of the entire village. He was responsible for every life dwelling within its new walls.

And he was alone.

All alone.

xxx

It should be noted that Madara was not an enemy.

Of course, Hashirama never assumed he was.

Of course, everybody else did.

It should be noted that Madara, first and foremost and exclusively, was concerned with the well-being of his clan.

Of course, this meant he would do anything in his power for the Uchiha clan, no matter what the consequences were for himself or anyone in his way.

Of course, if Hashirama had not spoken to him on the cliff, that very afternoon Madara would have done his best to raze Konoha to the ground.

It should be noted that Madara let Konoha stand.

xxx

This is what Madara made of all of this:

He had knowingly let his clan sell itself into slavery.

At least, that was his fear. That was his deepest, strongest fear. A fear that could make his heartbeat double when he walked up to that Senju Hashirama, as if his heart were trying to run away as fast as it could and wanted his feet to get with the program. A fear that made his vision flicker, sharper-dimmer-sharper-dimmer, brighter-duller-brighter-duller, as his irises quivered, as his instincts fought to start his Sharingan spinning and his will fought to keep it still. A fear that woke him up, that kept him up at night, a dread that could only be calmed by staring at the waning moon, by trying not to think about the what his clan's fate might be the next time the moon waxed.

Yes, Uchiha Madara knew fear.

Hashirama terrified Madara. The way an indestructible shield terrified an unstoppable sword.

The Senju clan had been trying to destroy—not defeat, _destroy_—the Uchiha clan for years. For generations, or so Madara had been told. And Hashirama had been their leader for quite some time. Why should Madara believe they'd had a change of heart? He saw no reason for it. It simply didn't make sense. Why now? Why did it take him this long to change his mind? Why did it take until after Madara had lost his brother?

If Hashirama had truly wanted peace, why hadn't he proposed it as soon as he'd become the leader of Senju?

(Because Madara had not given him the idea yet; but Madara did not know that.)

Madara had every reason to distrust Hashirama. He would have been a bad leader if he hadn't distrusted Hashirama.

But.

But.

But on a level he refused to acknowledge, that he knew existed and still _refused_ to acknowledge—

He wanted to trust Hashirama.

He wanted his clan to be safe here. He wanted to save his family from dying. He wanted to protect them, and if this, if this village could protect them—

But he would have been a terrible leader if he had trusted Hashirama merely because he _wanted_ him to be telling the truth.

However, Hashirama had allowed Madara to have something he hadn't had in... he didn't know how long. A few years. Since he had started going blind. Hashirama had allowed Madara to have something so sweet and nostalgic that it burned the back of his throat and made him nauseous, his body had almost forgotten how to digest it.

Hope.

Because Madara had been willing to hope, he had allowed his clan to order him to agree to the truce. He could have defied his clan's orders. He could have resisted and resisted until his clan gave up on it. Or, he could have resisted and resisted until his clan forced him to step down as clan leader. If he had been sure his clan was selling itself into slavery under the Senju, he would have done just that. Better to be outcast than to hand his family over to the enemy.

He hoped he wouldn't live to regret it, he hoped he wouldn't. But...

Something about Hashirama inspired hope. He didn't inspire faith, but hope. Which made him all the more dangerous. Pretty hopeful words were nothing more than sounds on the wind, and an Uchiha does not trust empty sounds; Madara wouldn't be able to _believe_ Hashirama was telling the truth until he saw the evidence with his own eyes. The most he could say for now was this: he hadn't seen any evidence _against_ Hashirama.

He'd also seen that Hashirama understood him. He knew what it was like to be a leader. To have to put his followers' good before his own good.

Not that Madara would ever admit he had seen this trait in Hashirama.

Somewhere along the line, he had reached a point where it had become impossible for him to admit his own flaws. His clan needed someone flawless to lead it. He could not admit that he felt fear. He could not admit that he felt hope. He could not admit that he felt.

Madara was unable even to apologize, except in backhanded comments which only an astounding amount of mental gymnastics could reveal to be self-criticism. The closest he could come to saying _I am not perfect_ was saying "I _am_ perfect," but in a sarcastic tone. The closest he could come to responding to a comment like "You're the strongest ninja I've ever known" with something like _And you're the strongest_ I've_ ever known_ was with a comment like "Except for yourself?" The only way he could confess that for all his strength on the battlefield he was powerless off of it was by saying, "It's funny, how rarely being the leader means making the decisions. Isn't it?" He just couldn't say those things.

But as long as there was hope. Oh, as long as there was hope for his family to be safe... As much, as much as Madara would have loved to avenge the suffering his clan had received at the Senju's thousand hands, if this village could protect the Uchiha, then Madara would protect this village.

He did not trust Hashirama. Especially not now, now that he had been chosen the leader of this village. But, Hashirama had sounded truthful, when he'd said he had not _wanted_ to be leader. Perhaps, then, perhaps he truly didn't want power. (A concept Madara found almost unbelievable, but he supposed it was hypothetically possible.)

Madara would give him a chance to prove he meant what he said.

And he would hope he wasn't making a mistake.

xxx

(That was what Madara _thought_ about Hashirama. As for how he _felt_ about Hashirama... Madara was a ninja, and therefore, he did not allow himself to feel. If he did feel, he would not admit it. And that is all that shall be said about that.)

xxx

"So how was he?" That was Tobirama speaking.

"What?" That was Hashirama.

Tobirama had been waiting for Hashirama outside the Senju complex. He looked relieved to see him. Inside the complex's walls, Hashirama could hear music. For a second, the music made him cross—why were they celebrating? What did they have to celebrate about, safe within the walls of their complex and isolated from the rest of the village? Were they celebrating the fact that they had taken over? The fact that they had wrested all governing power away from the Uchiha clan, away from Madara (oh and away from the rest of the clans too, can't forget that), was _that_ what they were celebrating?

He made himself calm down. The whole celebration was on Hashirama's behalf, wasn't it? He should be grateful.

"How was Madara. How's he dealing with this?" Dry laugh. "You don't _look_ like you just crawled out of a battle..."

"Oh—no, it went fine." That might have been stretching the truth a little, but Hashirama didn't want Tobirama to think ill of Madara. "He offered his congratulations." Was that stretching the truth too far?

An incredulous laugh. "_Him?_ Really?"

"Well, in his own way. You know how he is." Hashirama considered Madara too withdrawn to bother with frivolities like petty congratulations.

Tobirama considered Madara too proud to bother with niceties like friendly congratulations. "Yeah, I know. As long as he isn't planning on assassinating you..."

"Madara-sama wouldn't do that."

Shrug. "I don't know why you have so much faith in him..." (To be honest, Hashirama's patient diplomacy toward Madara utterly baffled Tobirama. Sure, Madara was the leader of the Uchiha clan, but he was still _Uchiha Madara_. Why bother with him at all? Sometimes, Tobirama felt, Hashirama was too much of a peace-mongering pacifist for his own good. Then again, he'd managed to make this village happen...)

"I don't know why you _don't_ have any faith in him."

"Hashirama, he spent I-don't-know-how-many battles trying to kill you."

"And? I spent those same battles trying to kill him." Albeit, Hashirama had to admit on some level, not trying too hard.

"Which is why he doesn't trust us. I'm just returning the favor." Tobirama placed a hand on Hashirama's shoulder before he could protest, and started gently steering him toward the gate into the complex. "C'mon already. I know you're not a party guy, but this one's for you. You've gotta at least show up."

"I know, I know." Hashirama smiled, but in some part of his mind he was thinking about all the other things he had to do soon. He _was_ responsible for the entire village, after all. He'd need to meet with each of the clans, one by one, discuss with them individually what they wanted out of this new village—hopefully someday they wouldn't all be divided up by clan, but, until then, this was necessary. Speaking of which, he needed to start working on a way to more fully integrate the village...

"I'm sure you'll be able to duck out before too long," Tobirama said. "Besides, it won't be too bad. I don't know how, but somebody managed to find some dancers and hire them to put on a show."

Oh. Dancers. Great. That had to mean—as it always did—a bunch of lithe, graceful, elegant young women, performing their moves for the pleasure of their eager audiences. And they just dragged on. For some odd reason, Hashirama had never found dancers all that entertaining.

But he did what he could to act as excited and interested in the performance as the rest of the audience. He knew he wasn't really as interested. He didn't know why he wasn't. He supposed he just... wasn't cultured enough. That was his only theory. He just didn't appreciate the fine performance art of dancing. He was an amateur sculptor, and he thought he'd like gardening if he ever had a little time and a little space to try it out, so he wasn't a completely uncultured brute, but somehow he just didn't like dance. However, this performance had been arranged for his benefit (and whatever Tobirama said, Hashirama suspected he was the one who'd arranged it), and so he would pretend to enjoy it. Even if he never got what the appeal of it was to the other men in the audience.

And indeed, it primarily was men; this party was basically being thrown by and for the shinobi of the Senju clan, not the Senju civilians; the clan had more male shinobi than they had kunoichi; and among the kunoichi who had come to this party, several drifted off together—doing girl things, probably—when the performance started; and most of those that remained watched with polite but fairly disinterested looks. Hashirama never thought to wonder why, during performances by these twirling, gyrating, thinly-clad, gorgeous young women, most of the audiences seemed to be made up of men. Or to wonder why women, who were certainly capable of appreciating the arts, did not have nearly as much of an interest in the dancers.

(Thus, he never made the connection between the facts that the men enjoyed watching the dancers, the women didn't enjoy watching the dancers, and he himself didn't enjoy watching them. Why would he make such a connection? After all, the Senju clan, as a whole, did not discuss matters of lust openly. The men watched dancers because they knew what they liked, and they labeled dancers as "artistic" so they wouldn't seem crude by admitting that their interest in the dancers was not quite so innocent as they pretended. The women knew why the men watched and let them have their fun, because there's no harm in watching. The only reason Hashirama never figured it out was because watching the dancers didn't "do anything for him," so to speak, and since he didn't have any reason to suspect it was doing something for the other men that it wasn't doing for him... Well, he concluded, dance didn't attract him. He didn't suspect that he wasn't attracted to the dancers.)

(The only dance that had ever attracted him was the battle he and Madara had shared.)

The party went well enough. He was asked to make a speech, so he made up one on the spot; about how this was an honor, but it did not mean Hashirama was going to have absolute power over the village, much less that the Senju clan was; about how, if they wanted this village to survive, they would have to focus on unity and cooperation; about how their highest priority would have to be the good of the village, and furthermore, the good of the future of the village, and of its future generations (Hashirama wasn't sure where that part had come from, it had just popped into his head, but "future generations" meant "children" and Hashirama liked kids so he kept it in); and how, in his role as leader, he didn't want to be the one making the rules and deciding where this village would go, he wanted to be the glue holding the village together, helping it to cooperate—not taking strength and courage _from_ his people, but giving his own strength and courage _to_ the people; and finally, how... how... (red eyes and a self-deprecating smile flashed through his mind) how, as the village's leader, he would not be deciding what the village did—the village would decide what he did. He would be a symbol of the village's power. He would be its tool. He would be a ninja. Nothing else.

The speech was a great success—any speech that was sufficiently noble and highfaluting always was (especially when the speaker was sober and the audience was half drunk). Tobirama insisted he repeat it to the rest of the village at large when they got around to formally founding this thing, you know, they don't even have a name for the village yet...

Hashirama knew. It was one of the things he wondered about—what were they going to name this thing. Through the rest of the celebration—which ended up lasting well into the night—Hashirama kept a running list in his head of all the things he'd have to start on tomorrow, when he got down to business. He needed a name for the village. And for the leadership office he had just taken.

For that matter, he needed to figure out _how_ the name would be chosen. Would he set up a suggestion box in the middle of town and draw out a random name? Would he read out a list of potential names in front of the villagers and have them vote on their favorites? Would he have the clan leaders go to their clans for names, and then meet together to let the clan leaders decide which name to select? None of those really worked. The first was ridiculous, the second was overly complicated (merely voting Hashirama in as leader had been far more complicated than anyone had anticipated), and the third would just cause the clan leaders to fight amongst themselves. But he'd have to figure something out.

And then he'd have to get to work establishing himself as a leader, but not as a dictator. He supposed he'd need advisors of some sort—but what sort? Political, charismatic advisors, well-known and popular if not competent, the kinds a daimyo had? Or capable, bitter, shrewd, tactical advisors, socially incompetent but martially triumphant, like a warlord had? Hashirama didn't know, the only thing he'd ever really led before was the Senju clan, and the clan was more like a big extended family than anything else.

Now there was a thought. Probably a bad one, but... Could he run a village like a family? "We all move in together and form a big happy family and never fight again." Madara had said that sarcastically, but, _could_ Hashirama do that? Treat the entire village like his family?

These were the thoughts that ran through Hashirama's head throughout the party. Those and many others: the clans had just sort of plopped themselves in some plains in the middle of the Land of Fire, turned them into a forest and then a village, and called it home—what were they going to do if the daimyo of the Land of Fire objected to their presence? Did this mean they'd have to start paying the Land of Fire's taxes? Or would the daimyo view this as an act of war? If he sent one or two clans to forcibly evict them, they could take care of themselves—after all, the two most dangerous clans in the world were both in this village, and besides that there were many more clans with them—but what if he hired an army of clans to attack them? Also, how was this village going to get food? Would they buy it all? Get farmers to move in? And what would they do if one of the clans decided to back out of this arrangement and betray the others?

He fully participated in the party, of course. (Inasmuch as one could fully participating in a party while turning down drinks and hanging out near a wall. He didn't like parties. And he didn't like drinking. He _especially_ didn't like drinking, or getting drunk, losing control, forgetting himself—so he never did.) However, he never stopped planning, because the next day he had to get to work. There were decisions to make, and before the decisions could be made there were meetings to have, and before the meetings could be had they had to be scheduled—how was Hashirama supposed to schedule meetings with all the clan leaders without a meeting in which a schedule could be set? Did he just swing by every complex, knock on the door, and ask who was home and what time was good? Was he supposed to be running his own errands or would he have to hire somebody to run them for him...

He kept thinking, planning, thinking, planning, through the party, into the night, until he finally escaped (the festivities could continue without him, most of the remaining party-goers were fairly drunk anyway) and hurried to bed. It had been—what with being chosen leader and that discussion with Madara and a wild celebratory party and all his new worries and thoughts and plans—a long, long day.

He drifted off with pieces and fragments of plans shifting through his head, all the things he had to do. He drifted off with pieces of a village in his mind, and as he dreamed, he tried to assemble the pieces into a family.

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	4. ENEMY ENEMY ENEMY: Year Two

A/N: A brief disclaimer: the thoughts on sexuality expressed in this chapter do NOT reflect my own opinions, nor are they an attempt to imitate the beliefs of a real-world culture, be it Western or Japanese. Rather, it's an attempt to make up a belief system that's logically cohesive with what little we know about the Naruto world's perceptions of gender and sexuality. (I personally am fascinated by LGBTQIA studies, am a full supporter of all the current civil rights and liberties causes, and am represented by at least one of those letters but haven't entirely figured out which yet, oh well.) Now enjoy something that might be definable as "sex." If Picasso were a romance novelist. Who wrote about gay ninja.

Thank you for your reviews, faves, and alerts! Please remember to review/critique/comment, let me know what you think!

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_ENEMY ENEMY ENEMY_

xxx

"Enemy." That word he kept hearing, over and over again. "Enemy. Enemy. Enemy." Until it became a rhythm, a pulse, a heartbeat. "E-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my" o-ver-and-o-ver-and-o-ver-and

He saw shadows and smoke and shadows. He saw beams of moving green light filtered through wavering leaves but he didn't see the leaves. He saw bursts of floating yellow embers drifting off roaring fires but he didn't see the fires. He saw pieces of warring bloody clans shifting into a fractured family but he didn't see the family. He saw

_e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my_

a demonic fox, tearing across fields, tearing through forests, bloodlust in its bloody eyes. He saw countless tails, weaving, whipping back and forth. He saw red fox eyes. Red eyes. He saw

_e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my_

red eyes, beautiful, merciless. Wild black hair, black as smoke and shadows and smoke. Pale skin, a mouth, a sneer, a wicked smirk—and then parting lips, a challenge or an invitation.

_e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my_

He saw—he _felt_—pale skin, even more skin, face, arms, neck, legs... He heard a dark chuckle, and then he heard gasps, and he heard someone hiss his name, and he heard himself hiss someone's name. He heard the distant roar of a demonic fox.

_e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my_

He felt nails in his back and teeth in his shoulders and lips on his lips and all sorts of other _unimaginable_ things and he felt the _sting_ of a blade and kicks and jabs and attack after _attack_ and fire and _fire_ and FIRE and it all felt so _amazing_ and

_e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my-E-NE-MY-E-NE-MY-E-NE-MY ENEMY, ENEMY, ENEMY MINE_

and he woke up.

He was breathing heavily. His body was covered in sweat. His covers were twisted up around his legs and hips, and he was lying half off of his futon. It took him a moment, in fact, to remember where he was.

He was in his village. (The idea of it being "his" village still threw him for a loop.) Yes, his village. In his room. His temporary room in the Senju complex, where he would be staying until he received proper new quarters fitting for the leader of a village such as this. He was in his room, in the middle of the night, having just woken up from a dream about—

About—

Oh hell oh hell oh _hell_ oh _HELL _oh no no _why_

That skin that hair those eyes those _eyes_ that was that was and in his dream he had shouted out that name he had shouted out for

Why was he—why, why was Madara in his dream? What was—Why was he... What the hell was wrong with—

Okay, okay, okay, okay... There was a logical reason, there was... no. No, there was no _logical_ reason—because it was a dream. Dreams were messages, but they were not logical. But there was still a reason. There was a reason.

Hashirama believed all dreams said something, something worth understanding. They were messages from something higher—specifically, from the Will of Fire. From Hashirama's ancestors, his friends, his family who had gone before him, from the deceased of the Senju clan, perhaps from the Sage of the Six Paths himself. The Will of Fire guided him in all he did; it gave him the strength he needed in battle and the clarity of mind to protect the people he loved and cherished.

And now it was trying to give him a message, that was all, that was all; so, what was it trying to tell him?

Well, it was simply recapping the day—Hashirama had officially been selected as his village's leader today, and this had bothered Madara. The dream was an analysis of their current relationship. It was a _battle_. They were _fighting_. It was a flashback, to battle. All the dream meant was, on some level, they were still in combat. That was it. That was all it meant.

Hashirama took a deep breath (just a dream), let it out (didn't mean a thing), and started trying to extract himself from the covers (just a dr—)

And then he felt the fabric twisted between his legs, felt a fantastic friction against something that shouldn't under "normal" conditions be able to feel friction like that, and at that point he couldn't keep denying the fact that he knew damn well the dream was not just a dream.

He'd dreamed about having... and he'd been having it with...

(What was wrong with him what was wrong with him what was WRONG with him oh please why why _why_ were these thoughts in his head where had they come from why him why _him_ why Madara why why _why_)

And that was how Hashirama had figured it out.

And all of the things that had happened before.

All of the thoughts that had floated through his mind and that he hadn't understood.

All of the things that he had once felt and would only come to analyze later, _everything_ over the past two years—

(... "Care"? Where had that come from?)

(_Why did he care so much about what Madara thought of him?_)

(Since when had Hashirama thought Madara's eyes were beautiful?)

(So why had Madara been so reluctant to take Hashirama's hand? Or had Hashirama just been too eager? Had he held on a bit too long, smiled a bit too wide?)

(Madara just doesn't like Hashirama, _why did that hurt more than everything else combined?_)

(There was always something else he knew he had to say to Madara, _something_ Hashirama had to tell him, but he never knew what...)

(_Because somehow it's my fault if he's unhappy. Because I can't be content unless he is. Because I want to see him smile._ Where in the world were those reasons coming from?)

(Was it "nervous," then? Was that what he was always feeling around Madara?)

(And suddenly Hashirama had an epiphany: when lovers told their beloveds, "You're even more beautiful when you're angry," they weren't just trying to calm them, it was completely true... where the hell had THAT come from _what was WRONG with him?_)

(What what _what_ what WHAT? Oh heavens what was wrong with him, oh hells what was wrong with him, even as these thoughts ran through his mind like a river through a splintered dam, some part of him was observing, silent and horrified and terrified and thinking what are these thoughts where did they come from what is wrong with me wrong with me wrong with me—)

Suddenly it all—

_It wasn't until much later, much much later, that Hashirama would look back on this (this fright, this anguish, this obsession) and wonder why, why had it hurt him so much that Madara didn't trust him? Why _should_ Madara trust him? They barely knew each other. (Didn't they? And here Hashirama felt like he knew Madara so well...)_

—it all clicked—

_No, no, no, Madara was part of this too, Hashirama certainly wasn't in this alone. They had shaken hands on it. Of course, Madara wasn't going out and getting support because his brother had just died, he was still in grieving, if he hadn't been—_

—clicked into place.

_And, once again, Hashirama would talk himself into forgetting that Madara hadn't willingly agreed to the alliance (yet how could he have unwillingly agreed?) and he thought Hashirama was trying to take over the Uchiha clan. Why did Hashirama keep talking himself into _ignoring_ that? Why was he so desperate for Madara to like his plan (and him?) that he was willing to repeatedly shove aside the truth?_

_But this self-analysis would come later, later, much later._

The self-analysis came.

In a single bright lucid dreamlike moment, he understood it. Why he was so, so, so

He wanted Madara, _wanted_ Madara, so much, so badly that he had founded a village because of him, _founded a village for him_. He could not stop looking at him, he could not stop seeking him out, could not stop thinking about him, could not stop caring about him. He did not know how it had happened he had just been an enemy just another enemy just the one that kept coming back over and over and over the one with those beautiful exquisite hypnotic eyes that he could not get out of his head was this, was this what it had been all about, was this why he was so, so, so

There were no words there were no words, why he was so, so, so... obsessive defensive oversensitive so nervous so confused so terrified so, so, so

_lovesick._

That

That was

it.

He was

He was in—

NO!

with—

_NO!_

He was... with...

_**NO!**_

And he screamed in his mind, trying to drown out his own thoughts with denial denial _denial_—

_No no no NO no no NO _NO NO nononoNONO_NONO_NO NO _NO NO NO no no NONOno _no no NO NO NONO_NONO_NO_NO_NO_NONONO_

(It was the least important thing in the world, at that moment. Absolutely the last thing on Hashirama's mind. You'd think it would be hard to ignore, but it wasn't, really.)

("It" being what was going on between his legs. He was still pretty well tangled up in his sheets, there was all sorts of friction, and considering the dream he just had, and considering that he'd been "on the verge" since he woke up, and considering that memories of that face and those red red eyes were all but filling up his thoughts, at some point there had to be some sort of...)

_No no NO _he couldn't be he wouldn't be oh please, oh please, that couldn't be right, that _couldn't be what it—_

(... release.)

All conscious thought vanished. Everything vanished in a flash as illuminating and keen as omniscience and as sharp and draining as impotence. Everything vanished but

He was left panting and sweating and fearing in a stunned, distant way that he might have said some of those words out loud.

Oh, please.

Please. No.

xxx

After all that, it would be very, very difficult for someone to remain in denial about their feelings.

Somehow, Hashirama found a way.

xxx

Hashirama got very little more sleep that night. He spent the remainder of the night thinking, and thinking, trying to figure out what that—that—_dream_ could possibly mean. He couldn't deny that... something was wrong with him. But he would not, could not accept that he was just a...

There were no words for what Hashirama was seeing in himself, there were no explanations. Insanity, monstrosity, abomination, perversion. There were no words. The closest concept Hashirama even knew of was "man of dreams."

And he. Was not. _That_.

He tried to justify it. And tried and tried. There had to be a reason for this, had to be, had to be—

He did not find an explanation that night. Nor for many more nights—nights filled with restless twisting in his sheets, with insomniac pacing in the dark, with more dreams of alarmingly similar content.

The explanation he finally invented for his feelings was neither logical nor even remotely accurate. But it was an explanation he could use to maintain his own sense of self-esteem, to comfort himself whenever he was hit by a sudden bout of (longing-love-lust, but he never called it that) of obsession. He used it whenever he had to quiet that ever-present and ever-growing parasite of a question, _what's wrong with me wrong with me wrong with me?_

And this was his explanation:

_They knew every inch of each other's bodies. They knew each other's bodies as well as they knew their own._

_Each knew the other's skin, his eyes, his hair. Each knew the other's voice, what he sounded like when he murmured, what he sounded like when he screamed himself hoarse..._

xxx

Konoha, obviously, went through a great many changes after its founding. This even included changes to its perceptions of sex and sexuality. After all, some sixty-odd years after the village's founding, the final selection for Yondaime Hokage came down to a choice between a snake-eyed genius whom everyone suspected of crossdressing and/or being queer, and a very young man who would soon father a child with a tomboyish immigrant jinchuuriki; as it happened, the snake-eyed genius lost the match, but if this indicates anything, it _wasn't_ because of the rumors that he wore lacy underthings on his missions.

Less than two decades later, an over-glorified crossdressing jutsu grew into a wild fad in Konoha, with the participants cheerfully performing as girls, boys, girls-on-girls, boys-on-boys, girls-with-boy-parts, boys-with-girl-parts, and countless other variations. It got a bit ridiculous, really.

But back when Konoha was founded, back when Hashirama lived, there was no such openness, no such information. The general public didn't even know what crossdressing was, much less mull over the acceptability of such a practice. (Even the idea of males playing female parts in kabuki performances would baffle them for a while—ninja didn't get many opportunities to visit the theater.) The same went for anything else that they could have called "outside the norm."

This didn't mean, of course, that people who deviated from the sexual norm didn't exist. The Shodai Hokage Senju Hashirama himself was living (and unwilling) evidence of this. But on (rare) occasions when such concepts were addressed, they were not exactly approached in the most educated manner.

In short, nobody had ever heard of such a concept as "homosexuality." Nobody had stopped and considered that perhaps there were people who exclusively fell in love with people of the same sex—another phrase that didn't exist, "same sex." "Same sex" and "opposite sex," who thought like that? You had men and you had women, and men loved women and women loved men, and the sky was blue and the sun was bright and water was wet. There were no alternatives, the world didn't work that way.

The concept of people who didn't fit the norm was (very) rarely addressed directly, but certainly, different clans have dealt with these people in different ways. The Uchiha clan, for example, was of the opinion that what their clansmen and clanswomen did with their genitalia was only important insofar as it related to their eventual offspring—as long as they didn't have (or risk having) children with anyone outside the clan, they were in the clear. Two same-sex cousins caught in bed together would cause less outrage than an Uchiha caught in bed with an opposite-sexed non-Uchiha; however, an Uchiha and a non-Uchiha of the same sex would not be too scandalous since they couldn't procreate. True, they would be seen as weird; but, well, some people wore their shirts backwards and some people didn't eat any meat, and they were weird, too. Big deal. The most important thing was keeping it in the clan, making sure that any child of an Uchiha was _only_ an Uchiha.

(Coincidentally, Hashirama was also a vegetarian. But he didn't wear his shirts backwards.)

Similarly, if the issue of homosexuality ever came up in the Senju clan, it had its own beliefs that could be used to address it. Specifically, the clan had a single concept, drawn from old folk tales: the "man of dreams."

Despite the pretty name, "man of dreams" is not something any sane man would like to be called. In fact, a more accurate name might be something like "man with unhealthily elaborate sexual fantasies." The man of dreams was named for a fictional character of the same title. This character was a lustful man with an insatiable sexual appetite, a man who was so obsessed with sex that he would do anything to get some, a man so thoroughly obsessed that he could not even function as a healthy human being because his life was completely consumed by lust... a man so desperately obsessed with sex that he would lust after anyone and anything, even a friend's beloved, even a sibling, even a child, even another man.

The man of dreams was a comical and a disgusting character. To be one was to be willing to bang anything on two legs. It was to be the lowest of the low, the most pitiful, pitiable pervert in the world.

And it was the ONLY concept the Senju clan knew that offered any explanation for one man's falling in love with another.

Is it any wonder Hashirama believed something was wrong with him?

xxxxx


	5. Underneath the Shadow: Year Two

A/N: New chapter, doop de doop. Nothing much to say here, except (because a beta made a mention of this) it is, in fact, possible for a person to refer to him/herself with "sama." There's even at least one place where Naruto calls himself "Naruto-sama" while being over-the-top. So, it's not grammatically incorrect. It's just grammatically arrogant. So, on with the fic! Please remember to review, comment, whatever—it's the only way I know if anyone's enjoying this, after all. Enjoy the chapter!

xxxxx

_Underneath the Shadow_

xxx

In the end, it was agreed that, since he had pretty much created the village, Hashirama should name it. He wasn't personally too fond of that plan, but what could he do? He had decided to do what his village decided he should do, and his village had decided that he should decide on the village's name. He was beginning to intensely dislike politics.

He consulted with a great many people on the name—many of them, regrettably, in the Senju clan, but that was because he knew them personally and knew they would actually tell him what they thought. He also consulted with the heads of other clans. And all of this happened around various other essential starting-up-a-crazy-village-experiment tasks, including fighting back would-be invaders who didn't expect the village to be as well-defended as it was, sending an envoy to the Land of Fire's daimyo to inform him that they came in peace, and reminding Tobirama for the hundredth time that they were allies with the Uchiha clan now and he couldn't go around badmouthing them in front of other Senju anymore, and yes, that included not saying anything about Madara.

But despite his other duties, Hashirama somehow managed to come up with a name for the village that pretty much everyone agreed was all right.

However, the title for the his own new leadership position—the title he himself would wear—Hashirama chose to name it himself.

He consulted with a great many other people about name ideas, certainly. But the last person he consulted before he made the announcement to the entire village was the only one about whose opinion he truly cared.

xxx

Madara gave Hashirama a cold look. "To what do I owe this honor, Senju-sama?"

To his credit and relief, Hashirama did not stutter, mumble, look at his feet, or forget what he was going to say. "I'm sure you know that I've been asked to name the village? And its leadership position?" This was the first time he had spoken to Madara since the day they had talked on the cliff. They had passed each other a few times by chance out in public, but neither had looked the other in the eye—for entirely different reasons, Hashirama was sure. (He was equally sure Madara had nevertheless gotten a good look at him whenever they'd passed. Sometimes he suspected the Sharingan could see anything. And since, for some reason, Madara never turned his off...)

"Of course." Madara crossed his arms and leaned against the outer wall of the Uchiha clan's complex. (He had not been willing to allow Hashirama inside the complex, and so he had met him outside.) "As flattered as I am that you'd come to me," he said dryly, "I'm afraid you wouldn't be very fond of any of my name suggestions."

(And promptly, a split second debate raged in Hashirama's mind: should he smile, or laugh, or just not react? Was Madara being serious or was he joking? Madara almost never joked—_was_ Madara joking, was he actually _joking?_ What? But, but Madara _did_ joke sometimes; what was the first thing he had ever said to Hashirama? "What? _You_ again?" Hashirama had never figured out what Madara had been trying to convey—if it had just been a taunt, or a joke, or... Hashirama decided it was a joke. But, even so, Madara almost never joked, as far as Hashirama knew, except for a handful of similar cases, cases that _might_ have been friendly banter and _might_ have been taunts or sarcasm, and one by necessity must respond differently to sarcasm than to banter—but had Madara even been _making_ a joke in this case?)

(But there was a hint of a smirk, obviously it _was_ a joke, but was he making a joke _at_ Hashirama or _with_ Hashirama? It was an important distinction, he would look pitiful if he laughed and Madara had been mocking him for visiting today; but Hashirama thought he saw something... guardedly inviting in Madara's—always beautiful—eyes; was he, perhaps, waiting to see how Hashirama reacted? Was this some kind of test? What would get Hashirama a passing grade? But he took that hint of an invitation at face value, and half-smiled in response to the joke, or what he hoped was a joke.)

All this in a fraction of a moment, in which Hashirama was barely conscious of the intense internal debate his mind had gone through before he smiled at Madara. (When other ninja villages sprang up in the future, and when Hashirama was called upon to be an ambassador to these other political bodies, he would seem to be a natural at establishing diplomatic relations with volatile, hostile opponents. Part of his skill, certainly, came from his natural charisma and leadership instincts, the traits which had allowed him to form the village; but just as much came from the practice in diplomacy he got at home, weighing the political and social ramifications of smiling at Uchiha Madara.)

Perhaps he was imagining it, but he thought Madara relaxed a bit when Hashirama smiled. Perhaps Madara was thinking, if Hashirama could take a lighthearted joke, then he was an all right guy. (Perhaps Hashirama was just fantasizing and Madara's expression hadn't even changed.)

... Wait, what were they talking about? (He _always_ lost focus around Madara, this was a problem.)

The name of the village. Right. Another split-second debate: did Hashirama respond to Madara's joke in kind, or just move on? He decided to move on. "I wanted to run the names by you before I made a final decision," he said. That sounded reasonable enough, didn't it? Not suspicious in the least? Hashirama thought so.

Madara, apparently, did not agree. "Why ask my opinion?" He didn't say it like he didn't consider his opinion worth asking, but like he was wary of Hashirama's motivation behind asking it; not "why ask _my_ opinion?" but "_why_ ask my opinion?"

Hashirama actually had a satisfactory answer planned, although it wasn't the first one that popped into his head. (_Because I'll feel bad forever if you dislike the village AND the village's name. Because I'm desperately seeking your approval in whatever way I can get it. Because I like you. A lot._) "Because even though I'm the only one who was formally chosen as this village's leader, I'll be counting on you to act as a leader as well," Hashirama said. "The Senju and Uchiha clans together are the very foundation of this village. If I have a right to decide what the village is going to be named, then you, as the leader of the Uchiha clan, deserve that right just as much as I do."

Madara was openly taken aback. Very openly. His jaw actually dropped a bit (giving Hashirama a lovely view of his slightly parted lips, positioned just perfectly for Hashirama to lean in and stop thinking that _stop thinking that_, they had been enemies once that was all it was...), and his (beautiful) red eyes that said so much were wide open, asking the question his voice did not: _are you SERIOUS?_

But he quickly recovered, and his expression returned to a wary neutral; but even so, something in his face had changed. He looked a bit puzzled, a bit suspicious, but—more than anything else—he looked quite a bit pleased.

This thrilled Hashirama.

He was immediately deeply ashamed of himself for feeling so thrilled.

"All right, Senju-sama. Go ahead," Madara said, nodding his head regally, like an emperor giving a messenger permission to speak in his presence.

"For the name of the village, the best idea I've got is Shinringakure no Sato." Village Hidden in the Forests.

Madara raised his eyebrows and glanced pointedly around him, at the many trees growing around (and even inside) the village. "A little obvious, isn't it?"

Well, yeah, it was. Hashirama refused to feel embarrassed. "I've been consulting a village full of ninja, not poets," he pointed out (not too defensively, he hoped). "If this tells you anything, my next two best choices are Shinobi City, and Village of Hunks and Babes."

Madara let out a snort of laughter, and for a brief moment, his face lit up with a surprised smile. (Oh that smile that _smile_, Hashirama didn't think he'd ever seen Madara smile like that before, smile like he was actually happy, his entire face changed and it was _beautiful_—) "Village of _what?_"

(Focus focus _focus_.) "It was Tobirama's idea," Hashirama said. "And the Yamanaka clan's already endorsed it."

"Of course they have." Madara just shook his head, still grinning. (Was this what he was like among people he liked? ... Meaning, among people other than Hashirama?) "Have they talked the Nara clan into supporting it yet?"

The Nara...? It was true that the Yamanaka and Nara clans were growing into fast allies, but Hashirama hadn't known Madara had noticed. But then again, he was _Madara_, of _course_ he'd noticed. "Not that I know of."

"Thank goodness." And with that, the cheer vanished from Madara's face, almost as if he realized he'd let it out by accident and had to bottle it up again. "So... Shinringakure no Sato? Why?"

"Uh, well..." Hashirama gestured around them, at the many trees growing around and inside the village. "A little obvious, isn't it?" He smiled wryly.

Madara didn't return it; Hashirama's smile faded. "You could have just as easily named it after the cliff," he said. The trees towered above the village, but the rocky cliffside towered above the trees. "Yes, this _is_ a village in a forest. A forest that was grown through the use of your Wood Release, wasn't it?" His (beautiful, albeit scary) eyes locked on Hashirama's, almost accusatorially.

What had Hashirama done to offend him this time? Oh, like he didn't know. "Yes. It was." He could see the direction Madara was taking this.

"So, you're naming the village for yourself?" If anything, Madara's gaze became even more critical.

Hashirama did not flinch. But he came close. It helped that he'd been expecting Madara to draw that conclusion—which is one of the reasons he had wanted to inform him of the name before it was finalized. However, he hadn't expected Madara to be so openly confrontational about it. "I don't consider Wood Release to be _my_ ability," he said.

Madara scowled. "Sure. And I don't consider _these_ to be my eyes. They just happen to be in my eye sockets."

Was the sarcasm really necessary? "I meant... I'm the only known Wood Release user of this generation. But there have been others in the past."

"All of which were Senju, weren't they?"

No point in denying it—and Hashirama had been expecting Madara to pick up on that, anyway. "Yes."

"So, you're naming the village..."

"_Partially_ in honor of my clan. Yes." Hashirama couldn't face Madara's increasingly disapproving glare anymore; he lowered his gaze. (Oh... now, that was nice. Apparently, when with his own clan, Madara wore a rather loosely closed happi coat. Hashirama could see a significant amount of his chest. He wished Madara would uncross his arms.) "But also because it does describe the village as a whole." Obviously.

Madara didn't reply for a moment, so Hashirama quickly added, "You see why I wanted to run this by you first?" Hopefully, that would please him—Hashirama _knew_ this was a controversial name, and knew it was biased toward his clan: Shinringakure no Sato, the Village HIdden in the Forests, the Village Created by the Senju Clan. He was acknowledging that. "If you don't approve, I'll change it."

"Oh, and you'll let the rest of the village get angry yet again at Uchiha Madara-sama, that unappeasable dissident, for throwing a hissy-fit over the name?" Apparently Madara was well aware of the kinds of things everyone else was saying about him.

(Hashirama hadn't known that Madara referred to himself as "sama." The part of his mind that kept pointing out how beautiful Madara's eyes were mentioned that, if anyone in the world deserved to stick "sama" to the end of his own name, Madara did.) "If you prefer, I could meet with the clan leaders without telling them why I'm reconsidering the name. I haven't even mentioned to anyone that I'm talking to you today." Not even Tobirama, because he was starting to get exasperated by how often Hashirama seemed to bring Madara up. He'd even joked that he was starting to think Hashirama was a bit obsessed with Madara. It was just a joke so far, but... Hashirama didn't want him to realize he was right. "I can present your ideas without anyone having to know they came from you," he said. "Or, if I do that, will you accuse me of trying to steal credit for your ideas?"

Hashirama immediately wanted to take it back. He didn't know what in the world had come over him. He hadn't meant to say that, he really hadn't, why in the world would he criticize Madara? If Madara was mad for some reason, it was almost undoubtedly because of something else Hashirama had done, intentionally or accidentally, that would get on Madara's nerves—Hashirama had no right to be annoyed if something _he_ were doing ticked Madara off, considering all of the things Hashirama had done to him so far, forcing him into this alliance, traveling about to collect clans while he was still in grieving, taking the leadership position from him... If Madara had disliked him before, he _certainly_ did after this, and Hashirama wouldn't blame him—

Madara snorted. "You just can't do anything right, can you, Senju-sama?"

Hashirama looked up at Madara's face in surprise, and discovered he was smiling (sardonically). A fierce internal debate ensued; the verdict was that Madara was mocking _himself_. He was mocking his _own_ tendency to criticize Hashirama. (At least Hashirama thought—no, _hoped_ that's what it was, oh please oh please.) Hashirama smiled wryly. "Not in your eyes, it seems." Getting those words out hurt Hashirama more than his voice would betray.

They were both ninja, they were both accustomed to recognizing hidden meanings, to uncovering disguised intentions, to seeing underneath the underneath. Madara had said _you cannot do anything right_, underneath that was the meaning _you just can't appease me_, and underneath the underneath was _yes, I know full well I'm just being difficult for the sake of being difficult_.

"I have better sight than most people," Madara said, then shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know how you plan to handle running this village of yours, if you can't even figure out what to name it without help."

"I don't plan on running it without help, either." He hoped Madara would take the hint.

Madara didn't say anything for a moment. Instead, the smile faded from his face, and he just stared at Hashirama, as if he were sizing him up—or as if he were deciding how best to attack him. "What would you say if I told you that right now, my vote is with Village of Hunks and Babes?"

Verdict: his expression was as serious as it typically was, but with a comment like that, he had to be joking. Respond in kind. "I'd point out that you're choosing a title that doesn't represent a majority of the village."

That got a laugh. Hashirama was on such a roll today. "I suppose you're right," he said, favoring Hashirama with a wicked smile. "But I guess not all of us can be born Uchiha."

Hashirama chose not to reply (which elicited another chuckle from Madara), mainly because he was worried he'd start agreeing and then he'd have to explain himself. "What's your second choice?"

"Konohagakure no Sato."

_That_ had been fast. "Excuse me?" Village Hidden in the Leaves? Was Madara being serious this time? There was no reason to believe he wasn't, but... "It's not that different from Shinringakure no Sato, is it?"

Madara shrugged. "Your clan did build this village, didn't it?" Hashirama chose not to argue that the Uchiha clan had been in on it, Madara already knew where he stood on that issue. "I don't see why that shouldn't be acknowledged in some way in the name." He did remarkably well at not sounding grudging.

This wasn't what Madara had been saying earlier—or was it? Hell, Hashirama didn't know, he supposed Madara had never exactly _said_ "I don't want your clan to be referenced in the village's name." As long as Madara was half-satisfied, so was Hashirama. "Why the change, then?"

"I just think it's a bit of an improvement. Artistically speaking."

Hashirama nodded slowly. He didn't see what Madara was getting at, but... "I suppose Shinringakure no Sato isn't particularly poetic..."

"I'm not talking about poetics," Madara said. "I'm talking about symbols. Which would make a better insignia to represent the village: a leaf or a forest?"

"... _What?_"

"Senju-sama. How exactly does one take a _forest_ and turn it into a symbol that isn't ridiculously complicated?" Madara asked. "I suppose the symbol could be made up of stylized kanji, but that's so generic. However, a leaf would be much easier to turn into an insignia."

Hashirama gave him an utterly blank look. "An insignia for _what_, exactly?"

Madara gave him an exasperated look. He knocked on the wall behind him. "_Here_, Senju-sama." Hashirama glanced at the wall; it was painted, over and over and over, with the red-and-white Uchiha fan. "Every clan has a symbol. Every nation has a symbol. If you think this village is a real organization rather than just a half-year multi-clan sleepover, how long do you plan on going without giving it a symbol? You can't even start issuing stationery without knowing what this village's symbol is going to be."

Stationery? Why was Madara thinking about _stationery?_ (Well, Hashirama supposed the Uchiha clan would by nature be visually-oriented...) But at the same time, he remembered the diplomatic squad he'd sent off to meet the daimyo of the Land of Fire, and the note he had sent along with them. He suddenly realized how plain the note had looked. Didn't every official document and imperial decree in the world come at _least_ with some sort of fancy stamp at the top, indicating from where the document came? "I haven't had time to think about a symbol," Hashirama protested. "The village doesn't even have a _name_ yet."

"Yes, I know. Call it Konohagakure no Sato and you've also got your symbol. Get somebody to draw a nice-looking leaf and start printing flags." Madara shrugged, and somehow, it was like a bow: _ta-da, my work here is done._

Hashirama almost opened his mouth to—to say something (to ask another question, to protest? Why does the symbol have to match the name, why does it _have_ to be a leaf?) but stopped himself. Really, was there anything _wrong_ with the name? As far as Hashirama was concerned, it was similar enough to Shinringakure no Sato that there was really no difference.

However, Madara liked this name.

Hashirama would do everything in his power to get this village named Konohagakure no Sato.

"All right," Hashirama said. "I'll put that one forward. Do you... want me to say it was your idea, or...?"

Madara shook his head. "I'd hate for your little selection committee to reject the idea just because it came from that unappeasable dissident Uchiha Madara-sama."

"I'm sure they wouldn't—"

"Is your brother going to be there?"

Hashirama paused. That was a good point. Tobirama probably _would_ reject an idea if he knew it had come from Madara. And Tobirama likely wasn't the only one. "I'll say it was an anonymous suggestion, then?"

"Say you didn't catch the suggester's name. Anonymous suggestions are suspicious."

Hashirama quirked an eyebrow at Madara. He stared back expressionlessly, his (beautiful) eyes daring Hashirama to question his logic. "All right, then." If he said so.

"So is that all you wanted, Senju-sama?" Madara asked, as if Hashirama had been asking him whether he should have rice or noodles with lunch, rather than choosing the name by which this first-of-its-kind village would forevermore be known.

"Just one more thing," Hashirama said, hoping against hope that this wouldn't annoy Madara; miracle of miracles, it didn't. (Maybe, just maybe, Madara was starting to like—oh, shut up, of course he wasn't.)

"What?"

"The title for the leader of... Konohagakure no Sato." That name was all right, he thought. And Madara liked it.

"Well?"

Hashirama paused. For him, this name was much more personal than that of the village—it was the name that would describe _him_, and he had chosen it without consulting anyone else. Sharing it with Madara would be... difficult. He hadn't told anyone else the name yet, not even Tobirama.

But here he was. So... so. Here he was. "I've only really got one idea, so far," he said. "It's... kind of an unusual title," he added. "But, since the entire concept of this village is new, I figured there was no need to be restricted to the... typical rules for this sort of thing," he continued. He paused. He waited to see if Madara wanted to say something.

He didn't.

"Hokage."

Madara didn't react. Hashirama wondered if he'd realized that he'd given the name. But then his eyebrows drew together in puzzlement, and he repeated, "Hokage? That's it?"

Wasn't that a promising reaction? "That's it." Fire Shadow.

Madara looked like he wanted to ask why, but then his gaze shifted, and he remained silent. Hashirama could almost see him analyzing the name in his head, trying to pick it apart as if he were picking apart an enemy's strategy based on their battle lines. Finally, when he was satisfied, he looked back up at Hashirama, and said, "Why?"

Hashirama hesitated. He knew Madara had to have already drawn some conclusion of his own; he wished he knew what it was. "There's a few reasons." Three main ones, actually. "The obvious one is that we're in the Land of Fire. It just made sense acknowledge that," he said. "And the daimyo will probably approve. I think he'd be less likely to try to evict a village that acknowledges that their leader's authority is basically a shadow of his own authority." Hashirama might not be accustomed to thinking about things like official state-issued stationery yet, but he had a feeling that respecting the daimyo was a good diplomatic move. Just a hunch.

"And the other reason," Madara said, "is the Will of Fire?"

"Uh... yes. That's right." The Fire Shadow, living in the shadow of the guidance of the Will of Fire. Hashirama hadn't realized Madara even knew about the Will of Fire. It was... well, actually, Hashirama had invented the term himself, but he did so as a way to describe the Senju clan's beliefs: that the collective spirit and individual spirits of previous generations lived on with them and in them, guiding them, strengthening them... The belief was as old as humanity itself, as far as Hashirama or anybody else knew, but the actual name for it was his own. But he only used it among a few close friends and family in the Senju clan. Where did Madara get all his information? "Do... you, by any chance...?"

"I don't buy into your version of it, if that's what you're asking," Madara said disdainfully. "I don't believe in the Will of Fire."

"Oh." What else was there to say? "I see." He wondered what Madara _did_ believe. How was it that Madara knew Hashirama's private name for the Senju beliefs but Hashirama didn't have a clue what Madara believed in?

"Well," Madara said. "I suppose it's a decent enough title for _you_ to wear." And that was it. The title of Hokage had received Madara's verbal stamp of approval without, in fact, actually meeting his approval.

Hashirama almost said _wait_, almost said _I'm not done yet_, almost said _give me another chance_. But Madara had already approved of the name, more or less—what else could Hashirama say? It didn't matter to Madara whether or not Hashirama had a third reason behind the name.

(The third reason, the most important reason, the most private reason. This village was founded by two clans, not one: by the unification of the Senju and Uchiha clans. And so if it were to be named Konohagakure no Sato, Village Hidden in the Leaves, then the buildings, the structures, the geographical location—the _security_, the _defense_ of the village—were named for the Senju clan. But. But the living embodiment of the village, meaning the ninja, the people, the human strength—the _power_, the _offense_ of the village—would be named for the Uchiha clan.)

(And that "living embodiment" was the person _chosen_ by the people of the village to represent them, the symbol of the village's power. That "living embodiment" would be the Hokage, Fire Shadow. Fire, for the flames of the Uchiha clan.)

(The "Hokage"—which, at this point, meant Senju Hashirama alone—was the man who stood _in the shadow_ of the Uchiha clan's strength.)

(This was the name Hashirama had chosen to describe _himself_.)

(He never told Madara.)

That was it. It was a decent enough title for _Hashirama_ to wear. That was, apparently, all Madara thought about the title of Hokage.

And then Madara added, almost as an afterthought, "But I hope you'll understand if I decide to change the name when I take office."

That startled Hashirama. "When," not "if." From anyone else, the statement would have been sheer arrogance.

But in Hashirama's mind, Madara was capable of no arrogance. From him, the statement was a promise. It was a decision. It was a demand to be given what was his right.

From the very start: Hashirama would have been more than glad to share the leadership position. Madara deserved to lead.

And Hashirama could feel Madara's eyes on him; the statement was a promise, a decision, a demand, _and_ another test. He was waiting to see what Hashirama did. Hashirama was abruptly aware of the feel of his heartbeat in his chest, and of how fast it had suddenly become.

This, this was his first, last, only, and best chance to get on Madara's good side. No, not just that, but—but to _prove_ to him that he wasn't... or rather, that he was... Screw it.

This was his chance to prove himself.

Hashirama grimaced. "Change the name? Don't tell me you're going to make us throw out all the stationery with 'From the Hokage's Office' at the top?" he said. "That's killing a lot of trees."

"I'm sure you can grow some replacements."

"Well, if you order me to."

He didn't need to say anything else.

They were both ninja, they were both accustomed seeing underneath the underneath. Hashirama had said _I will do what you order me to_, underneath that was the meaning _you will be able to give me orders someday_, and underneath the underneath was _yes, you will be the next Hokage_.

And oh Hashirama would have relinquished the office of Hokage a hundred times a thousand times over, just to receive that smile that smile that _smile_ oh there were no words no words to describe that smile but for a moment the rest of the world ceased to exist and all that was left was

Madara.

xxxxx


	6. The Leaf's Name: Year Two

A/N: Sorry this is going up so late; I spent ALL AFTERNOON working on a Halloween costume. At least it's up now. Anyway, thank you for reading! Please remember to review, and do enjoy!

xxxxx

_The Leaf's Name_

xxx

Hashirama hated himself and he was the happiest he had ever been.

Oh yes oh yes Madara had _smiled_ at him, he had laughed with him and he had smiled, he had smiled at _him_. It was, it was... _amazing_. He was just so... so beautiful, Hashirama couldn't get over it, he wished it had lasted longer, Madara had smiled at him and even his eyes his beautiful _beautiful_ eyes had been happy and

Hashirama wanted to die. What was wrong with him?

He shouldn't, he couldn't... he shouldn't feel this way. Not about Madara. Not about...

Madara was his enemy. He was Madara's enemy. Madara was the man Hashirama had fought over and over and over, countless times. The one man he had always fought against and never defeated. He was an enemy, his enemy, his enemy... And now he wasn't anymore. But, even if he wasn't—

Hashirama should not feel this way.

But he did. And it was _beautiful._ To receive _that smile_ from Madara, did that make it worth it? To know he had said things that had made Madara smile, things that had made Madara laugh, things that had made Madara happy? Was that worth it, the pain, the shame, the obsession, the perversion?

Yes. Yes.

No.

_Yes_.

No, nothing made it worth it.

It didn't matter—because something was already wrong with Hashirama.

And here he was, now, sitting twenty feet up in the air, on a tree branch in one of the many parks he had spread liberally throughout the village, waiting for his heartbeat to slow and his face to cool back down, fighting the urge to either cry like a fool or smile like a fool. (To all outside observers, he was simply, peacefully sitting by himself, watching the clouds roll by. Senju Hashirama was a man; but he was also a ninja, and a ninja is an entirely different creature from a man. A man may want to smile and want to cry, but a ninja does not feel and does not think—a ninja puts on the appropriate mask for the occasion and goes on, as if it has no soul. A ninja does what it must.)

Yes, there was something wrong with Hashirama. He did not even know if it was something he could fight—but he was trying, he had to try. He was the leader of a village now, the soon-to-be-Hokage of the soon-to-be-Konohagakure no Sato. He could not _let_ himself be distracted by this, this...

Favoritism. This was nothing more than favoritism, wasn't it? (He decided he preferred the word "favoritism" over "obsession" or "perversion.") He only just realized, he was naming this village based on what Madara told him to name it. Shinringakure, Konohagakure—Hashirama didn't see any difference between the names. But he hadn't even stopped to _think_ before he'd decided that he would do anything to get the village named whatever Madara wanted it to be named. What happened to Hashirama's decision to do whatever his village wanted him to do?

This particular issue, maybe, wasn't so important. (What was he talking about _it was the name of the village, of course it was important_ but no, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that important.) But what about in the future? When there were more important decisions to make? Ones that could decide the path of the entire village? Hashirama couldn't just agree to whatever Madara wanted just because Madara wanted it.

And... he didn't think he would. He really didn't. But. But. He didn't know. Because there was something wrong with him and he didn't know why; he didn't know what it would make him do. He had already underestimated how it would make him feel.

He had never estimated that just... just a smile, could make him feel so...

And then all of the sudden out of the blue, out of the clear blue beautiful sky, he remembered, something Madara had said: _"I'm not talking about poetry, I'm talking about symbolism. Which would make a better insignia to represent our village: a forest or a leaf?"_

He had said "our village."

Madara had said "_our_ village."

Hashirama stared up in bafflement at the blazing blue sky for a long moment, unable to believe his own memory. Had Madara really said that? Why hadn't he noticed at the time? Could he be imagining it? But no, no, he was sure, he convinced himself that he was _sure_, Madara had _said..._

Hashirama shut his eyes and leaned back against his tree and silently laughed, in relief and joy. (So much for being a ninja, so much for controlling his emotions.) It was Madara's village, too. This was Madara and Hashirama's village. Yes, yes, _yes_.

That day Madara had smiled at Hashirama and had laughed and had said "our village," and it _would_ have been the happiest day of Hashirama's life, if he had not kept trying so hard to refuse to let himself be happy.

xxx

It should be noted that Madara never said "our village."

It should also be noted that one of the primary elements of a man of dreams is an inability to distinguish fantasy from reality.

xxx

The next day, at a meeting which all of the clan leaders attended, the name of the village was officially declared.

And for once, the meeting _did_ have all the clan leaders. This was the first meeting Madara attended. Nobody said a word about it as he came into the meeting room (just a vast empty chamber set up at the foot of the cliff) and silently took the seat that had been reserved for him for so many weeks.

As Hashirama spoke to the other clan leaders, Madara didn't react to a thing—not even to Hashirama's proposal of a change in their planned name, from Shinringakure no Sato to Konohagakure no Sato. (Hashirama did not present the change it as a suggestion. He presented it as a _fact_. Any questions?) In fact, his two bodyguards showed more interest in the proceedings than Madara himself did.

But Madara was paying attention. Hashirama knew he was. Even if he was slouched down in his seat, eyes staring vaguely and boredly at some random spot far off in the distance. After all, Madara did not need to look at something to see it.

Hashirama did not say where the idea for the name came from. Nobody asked. And the decision was almost official, when Hashirama asked if anybody had further questions or comments before he declared their village's name to be chosen.

Nobody was more surprised than Hashirama when Madara indicated he wanted permission to speak. (Although quite a few other people in the room came close, including Madara's own bodyguards.) "Yes, Madara-sama?"

"I'd been led to believe that one of the possible names was Village of Hunks and Babes?" He had the most stoic face Hashirama had ever seen. "I take it this name has been removed from the list?"

Hashirama stared at him. (Along with the rest of the clan leaders.) He tried to match Madara's stoicism and probably failed. "Unfortunately, yes. For some reason, not enough people were in favor of it."

Madara nodded thoughtfully. "A pity." His bodyguards were staring at him as if they realized they'd lost the real Madara and had accidentally spent all day following _this_ guy.

"Well, when you're in charge, you can call the village whatever you want."

Hashirama shouldn't have said that, he _knew_ he shouldn't have said that, it was absolutely the wrong thing to say politically, and especially in front of all the other clan leaders, and Hashirama could already feel Tobirama's baffled and suspicious glare on the back of his head.

Was the chuckle he got out of Madara worth it? Of course not.

But it sure as hell _felt_ like it was worth it.

Otherwise, the naming of the village went without incident. When the names were made official—the village would hereafter be known as Konohagakure no Sato, and its leader would be known as the Hokage—there was great applause and cheering and celebration. Madara clapped politely and left as soon as courtesy allowed, taking his two bodyguards with him.

That was fine with Hashirama. Madara had been there. That was enough.

xxx

This is what Madara made of all of this:

Hashirama was trying his hardest to impress him, and he didn't trust one bit of it.

The fact that Hashirama was trying so hard either meant he was sincere about everything, absolutely everything—he really had no plan to oppress Uchiha, he really did want Madara to be his equal—or he was trying to get Madara to let his guard down so he could easily betray him later.

Madara was more than prepared to believe it was the latter.

Except for the fact that Hashirama had listened to him.

Madara had suggested the name Konohagakure no Sato on purpose: because, practically speaking, it had almost the exact same meaning as Shinringakure no Sato. Madara hadn't known whether or not Hashirama would act like he thought it was a good idea, but since he _did_, Madara had expected things to turn out one of two ways: either Hashirama would never bring it up, name the village Shinringakure, and later tell Madara that after thinking about his suggestion he'd decided he just didn't approve of Konohagakure; or else he would randomly bring it up at the meeting as some name somebody had suggested to him, let the suggestion float in the air, and then let it die naturally when nobody supported it, so that Hashirama would be able to legitimately tell Madara that he'd suggested the name and it hadn't gone anywhere. Madara had expected one or the other. The former would have suggested that Hashirama wasn't even trying to act like he considered Madara his equal, the latter would have suggested that Hashirama was putting some effort into the performance but only when he knew he would get his way in the end.

So what did it mean that Hashirama had all but ordered the other clan leaders to go along with Madara's idea?

So what did it mean that Hashirama had, out of nowhere, in front of all the other clan leaders, all but announced that he had already selected Madara as the next leader of the village?

Maybe, when Hashirama spouted all that idealistic nonsense about peace and hope and teamwork and cooperation and alliances and love—maybe he actually believed in those ideals.

Madara didn't know what to make of all of that.

But for now, he supposed... he would assume Hashirama wasn't his enemy, after all.

xxx

"What in the world was that all about with Madara?" That was Tobirama speaking.

"What?" That was Hashirama.

"Earlier today, before the announcement and the speech to the village. During the meeting. What _was_ all that?"

"Oh, that? It sounded to me like Madara-sama liked the name you suggested."

"That's not what I was talking about." Although Tobirama was scowling in that way that meant he was trying not to grin.

"What? I'm just saying, Madara-sama liked your name. What, that doesn't bother you, does it?"

Of course it bothered him. Which was why he was scowling even harder to prevent himself from laughing. "I don't think I like the name so much now."

"Well, it's a good thing we didn't go with it, then."

"Shut up."

Whatever Tobirama had been planning on asking—he didn't.

xxx

Time passed.

Hashirama didn't get rid of his feelings; but he got better at convincing himself they weren't inappropriate.

xxxxx


	7. So Did Mito: Year Three

A/N: On the downside, it is no longer Friday, for which I am very sorry. On the upside, I chose getting this chapter edited over meeting my word count for my National Novel Writing Month novel, so I hope you're all happy. This is the first day so far that I've been behind word count, sob.

For anybody who might be wondering who "Koori from the Kagayaki clan" is and/or what his clan is supposed to be: he is a long, elaborate cross-fic joke with a friend. For all intents and purposes, he's just an all-purpose OC, for all the duties that cannot be fulfilled by canon characters and/or random people from identified clans.

Also, for anybody who hasn't read up to chapter 500: Uzumaki Mito and Uzushiogakure are canon. ... I could relate an utter horror story about how I was halfway through writing this very chapter when ch 500 came out. It not only forced me to rewrite this entire chapter but also necessitated several revisions of multiple parts of the plot of the rest of the fic. I'll spare you the details. It was a terrible, terrible time. But the fic survived!

Please review, let me know what you think, all those sorts of things. 'Cause I don't know whether or not anybody's enjoying this if nobody says so. (I know a grand total of two people regularly enjoy this. Because they actually say so. The rest of you, no clue! ... Assuming there is a "rest of you"!) And on with the fic, I hope you enjoy!

xxxxx

_So Did Mito_

xxx

**Year Three**

The Year Konoha Gained a Sister

xxx

Officially or not, within a year of the founding of Konoha, Madara was the de facto second in command. When Hashirama had multiple tasks he needed to attend to—such as a meeting with the Uzumaki clan (which wanted to ally with Konoha; but, for some reason, not join it) and a meeting with the daimyo (who wanted to formalize the arrangement between the Land of Fire and Konoha: territory in return for military defense)—he himself would attend to one task and Madara, given all the rights and responsibilities of the Hokage, would attend to the other. In this case, Hashirama was going to meet with the Uzumaki clan, while Madara would meet with the daimyo.

This wasn't because Hashirama was trying to get out of work b foisting his responsibilities onto somebody else, since he was more than willing to handle all responsibilities himself (and he would never, never do that to _Madara_ of all people); and it wasn't because Madara was trying to worm his way into a position of power, the way some people seemed to believe.

Hashirama wasn't being lazy—he had been offering Madara _opportunities_ (not orders) to go on missions like this for months now. Madara had the choice of which ones he wanted to take on, and could refuse to take any he didn't wanted. But he never turned down an opportunity.

And Hashirama was completely giving Madara permission to do this—Madara was certainly not trying to take over Konoha while Hashirama wasn't paying attention. (Or, if he was, Hashirama supposed he was simply letting Madara get away with it... but no, no, Hashirama wasn't just being a pushover, all of this was his idea in the first place, wasn't it?)

In cases like this, Hashirama even gave Madara the choice of _which_ mission he wished to take. It was Madara who had decided he would visit the daimyo himself, and thus Hashirama would visit the Uzumaki clan. And it was little things like that which proved (at least to Hashirama) that Madara actually was working in the best interests of the village.

It was quite well known that the Senju clan and Uzumaki clan were closely allied, even though they so rarely interacted, considering how far away the Senju and Uzumaki clans were based from each other. (Actually, that might have been why they had managed to stay allied so long—no reason to fight. That, and some ancient common relative; but that might have been a myth.) So that was why Hashirama was going to the Uzumaki clan.

Now, it might seem suspicious that Madara was the one going to the daimyo, since it looked like a rather important mission. However, Hashirama knew better. Specifically, Hashirama knew Madara despised the daimyo's guts, complained endlessly about him whenever he came up, and would like nothing more than to never deal with him again. The fact that he _was_ trying to put up with the daimyo just went to show how much effort he was putting into the good of Konoha.

(And if Madara was just going through all of this to set up an eventual takeover of the office of Hokage? He didn't need to go through half so much effort.)

Of course, there were some naysayers, gossips, rumormongers. The ones who mistrusted Madara, the ones who thought Hashirama trusted him too much. But Hashirama tried not to listen to them, and as far as he could tell Madara just looked straight through his detractors, as if they were invisible.

Their system worked, so far. Konoha, young as it was, was strong and showing promise of growing stronger. It was thriving, held safely within its village walls, from which flew the new flags of Konoha. (And Hashirama had to say, they were some good-looking flags. A man named Koori from the Kagayaki clan had ultimately designed the symbol that would represent Konohagakure, a leaf with a spiral at the base. Now they only needed to come up with a way for all of the citizens of Konoha to wear that symbol. The easiest thing would be to simply replace their various clan symbols with the Konoha leaf, but nobody was going to agree to that. Until then, Hashirama just supposed they'd have to haul flags all over the place.)

And so, proudly carrying along the Konoha flag, with three other ninja accompanying him (a Senju, an Uchiha, and Kagayaki Koori himself), Hashirama and party arrived at the designated location for the Uzumaki clan meeting, along the southeastern coast of the Land of Fire, where he and the Uzumaki representative would negotiate.

The first order of business was to find out why the Uzumaki clan wanted to ally with but not join Konohagakure, when so many clans had joined. Hashirama had even met with the Uzumaki when they were all getting organized, and the clan hadn't even considered joining Konoha—despite their close relationship with the Senju clan. Why?

The Uzumaki clan leader said, "We didn't want to endanger our clan by joining such an alliance until we knew that the experiment you were proposing could produce a stable village. I apologize if that sounds like we were using you as guinea pigs, but you understand. After so many generations of war, our suspicions were higher than our hopes."

That was all well and good, and fantastic if Konoha's recent success had allayed their suspicions and fulfilled their hopes. But if it had, then why wasn't the Uzumaki clan _joining_ Konoha? Considering that Konoha itself was nothing more than an alliance of clans, wouldn't it make more sense for the Uzumaki clan to join that alliance as a full member, rather than remain a single clan with an alliance to an alliance?

The Uzumaki clan leader said, "It would, if I represented the Uzumaki clan alone. However, I no longer speak for a single clan. Hokage-dono of Konohagakure no Sato in the Land of Fire—acting in my capacity as Uzukage of Uzushiogakure no Sato in the Land of Eddies, and drawing on the bonds between your Senju clan and my Uzumaki clan—I would like to propose a formal alliance between our two hidden villages."

A hidden village? The Uzumaki clan had founded a hidden village?

The Uzumaki clan leader said, "Yes."

Hashirama informed him, with all due formality and decorum, that he thought that was pretty darn cool.

In retrospect, Hashirama figured it was probably quite a good thing that he had gone to meet with the Uzumaki clan, instead of Madara.

(Although he wished Madara had been there to hear the news.)

(But then, he always wished Madara was there.)

xxx

"Exactly how many delegates are you expecting from Uzushiogakure?" That was Madara, standing on the wrong side of the Hokage's desk and leaning back against it as he stared outside at the rain. (They didn't have windows yet, just big open squares in the wall. Hashirama could do many things with Wood Release, but he couldn't create glass.)

And here was Hashirama, sitting at his desk with his back to the rain, trying to resist the urge to glance every once in a while at Madara's profile, because he was so close that if Hashirama leaned over slightly he could probably feel Madara's body heat, which is precisely why Hashirama didn't lean over—_but did he ever want to_. But he didn't. Which made up for the fact that he miserably failed at stopping himself from repeatedly glancing over at Madara.

Wait. What was the question? His attention had been on analyzing the point at which Madara's body made contact with Hashirama's desk. (It was completely a coincidence that the point happened to coincide with Madara's posterior.) He quickly glanced down at the papers at his desk and pretended he had been reading and hadn't heard Madara. "Huh?"

Hashirama couldn't hear anything over the patter of rain, but he could _feel_ Madara's chest rise and fall with a sigh. (Maybe he really was sitting too close?) "The Uzushiogakure delegates," he repeated. "There can't be more than a dozen or so, right?" They were waiting for a diplomatic mission from Uzushiogakure to arrive, in order to write up a formal treaty between their two villages, and to begin official diplomatic relations, and so on and such forth. They were kind of making this up as they went along.

"I wouldn't think there'd be that many," Hashirama said. "Maybe fifteen at most. Why?"

"I'm trying to figure out where to put them," Madara said. As if, for some reason, that was his duty rather than Hashirama's. Considering how many other duties had been delegated to Madara, it may as well have been. Madara's duties consisted of "whatever Hashirama specifically offered to let him do" and "whatever Madara thought somebody should do and didn't see somebody else doing already," a fact that bothered the people who disliked Madara. Finding some place for the delegates to stay probably fell into the latter category.

Madara raised his hand to point into the rain at something; Hashirama turned around in his seat to see what. "There," point, "is the Aburame clan, and over there," point, "is the forest where the Nara clan will be building their complex; there's a bit of empty land outside and to the east of their complexes. They can camp there."

For the life of him, Hashirama couldn't see what Madara was pointing at, but he knew where the Aburame and Nara clans were located. "Madara-sama, that will put them almost outside Konohagakure all together. We can't force our guests to camp there."

"Who's forcing them? They've got options, they can camp near the Inuzuka clan if they can stand the howling. You can ask them when they get here," Madara said. "If it's the 'camping' part you object to, why don't you Wood Release up a house for them?" That was the first time Hashirama had ever heard "Wood Release" used as a verb.

"That's not the point. I just don't see any reason to push our guests to the edge of civilization."

"Well, if you need a reason for that, I could come up with a list for you and have it at your desk in an hour, Hokage-sama."

(Madara had finally stopped referring to Hashirama by his last name. On the other hand, he no longer referred to him by his name at all. Only Madara could turn the act of calling Hashirama "Hokage-sama" into an act of disrespect.)

Hashirama frowned. "Madara-sama."

"What?" Madara gave Hashirama an innocent look. It was rather ruined by his (_still_ beautiful) Sharingan eyes.

"What's wrong with letting them, say, stay in the Hokage Residence?" Besides the fact that they might be getting a little wet today, depending on which way the wind blew the rain, but he was sure he could find some rooms without windows...

"The closer they're based to the center of the village, the more damage they'll be able to do if they decide to betray us," Madara said. Never mind that the Uzushio delegates were Konoha's _allies_. Heedless of Hashirama's (halfheartedly) disapproving glare, he added, "Reason number one why we should push them to the edge of civilization."

Hashirama didn't know if Madara was joking or not. In this case, it could go either way. (Hashirama liked to believe he understood Madara's sense of humor better than most other people did. It was unbelievably subtle, delivered with a deadpan expression that betrayed nothing, and tended to sound highly insulting unless you realized it was sarcastic. Sometimes, the only way Hashirama knew for sure that he was joking was when he'd unleash his private brand of humor on some unsuspecting subordinates, and when they didn't react favorably, Madara would shoot an exasperated glance at Hashirama. The look seemed to say _well, they didn't get it; did you?_ Hashirama didn't always get it either, but it was nice to think that Madara expected him to.) "I'm sure there's somewhere they can stay inside the village." Emphasis on _inside_. "What about the other clan complexes?"

"I sincerely doubt that there will be room enough in any of the complexes to accommodate a diplomatic squad of... what, ten to fifteen people?" Madara said. "Reason number two. Incidentally, how long a list do you need? Because I can think of three more reasons off the top of my head. If all you need is five, I can get to work on a written copy right now."

That confirmed it, Madara was joking. "Make it twenty and we'll talk," Hashirama said. (He was rewarded with a reluctant smile, which was all he'd really wanted.) "Aren't there a few unused buildings in your complex?"

Madara visibly bristled. "I _refuse_ to let _Uzumaki_ stay with my clan."

Hashirama hesitated before responding. Why was this such a big deal to Madara? It took him a moment to remember that, of course, Uchiha and Senju had been enemies, and Senju and Uzumaki had been allies, so, by extension... _The friend of my enemy is also my enemy_, huh? Hashirama wondered if that meant Madara still considered Senju to be his enemy, and decided not to think about it. "Technically, any unused buildings are property of Konoha until a clan makes use of them," Hashirama said. "You don't get to decide what to do with them. Konoha does." (Politics. Hashirama was getting good at them, to his mingled pride and shame.)

The look Madara fixed Hashirama with might have killed a lesser man. "I _am_ Konoha," he said. "I have the authority to decide what happens to the buildings in my clan's complex, and there is only one person in this village who has the authority to override my decisions." He glared at Hashirama like he was daring him to use that authority.

To anyone else, the conversation would be turning into an obvious power play. To anyone, that is, but Hashirama, who let Madara get away with everything. Instead of asking some question like_ how do you think you're going to enforce that decision_ or _why do you object so much to having Uzumaki as guests_ or _shouldn't you choose your fights more carefully_ or anything like that—he dropped his gaze. Bowing out. Surrendering the match to Madara. Nothing was spoken, but enough was said: you win, the Uzushiogakure delegates won't be the guests of the Uchiha complex.

On a level that only the most skilled shinobi could detect, without even having to look, Hashirama could sense the tension draining out of Madara's body. He tried not to think about how similar Madara's chakra had felt, just for a moment, to how it felt on the battlefield. And again he fought the urge to lean closer to him.

(In Madara's world, everything was a power play. Unless he was the uncontested master of the current conversation, he _had_ to engage in little acts of one-upmanship. Because, as the Uchiha leader, he couldn't admit to flaws. That included submissiveness. It was fortunate that Hashirama was a rather passive leader, happier to take orders than to give them. Whenever Madara pushed a little, Hashirama gave a little. And then Madara would stop pushing. He had asserted his position in this two-man hierarchy, and that was all he needed to do.)

"So, when are they going to get here, anyway?" Madara asked. (He didn't gloat over his triumphs.) He pushed himself off Hashirama's desk and leaned out into the rain, scanning the streets below.

Hashirama didn't have a clock in his office (he usually told the time by checking a compass for north, finding a sunny spot, and sprouting a plant to act as a sundial; on days like today, though...) but he had a feeling that the Uzushiogakure delegates were late. "Don't know," he said. "Maybe the rain delayed them? A bit?"

Madara didn't answer. Instead, he leaned further out the window, looked up, and after a moment, said, "There's rain for _miles_ to the southeast." (What, could the Sharingan see _everything?_ Hashirama thought that was the Byakugan's trick.) Madara drew back inside and wrung out his now wet hair over the floor. Hashirama didn't say anything, he just watched it drip. "Perfect," Madara grumbled. "Why would a little rain delay a ninja, anyway."

Great, Madara was getting in a bad mood. Hashirama hated to see him upset. "You didn't see anyone coming?" he asked.

"No. Nobody," Madara said, glancing out the window again.

"It'll be fine, Madara-sama. I'm sure they're only a little delayed."

Madara shot Hashirama an annoyed look, as if Hashirama's attempts to cheer him up were just irritating him. "Why should I care?" he asked, with a languid shrug. "They're wasting your time, not mine."

Hashirama hesitated. Right. "Sorry. You just seemed..." Actually, he didn't know what Madara seemed. He _had_ seemed angry, but... Well, he still did, but...

"I'm not distracting you, am I, Hokage-sama?"

Distracting him? Distracting him from what? On some days, it seemed more like everything else was distracting him from Madara. ... Wait, that wasn't right. "No, of course not." He quickly turned his attention back to the documents on his desk. (Reports, reports, signature, signature, paperwork, paperwork. Who would have guessed leading a village of ninja would require so much paperwork? Maybe he was doing it wrong.)

"I could leave."

Oh, please no. "You're fine, Madara-sama." And then it occurred to him that perhaps Madara was trying to ask for permission to leave. Hashirama glanced up at him. "But if you have other business you need to attend to, you can go, if you'd prefer?"

"I'll find something to do." Madara walked around to the front side of Hashirama's desk and headed for the door. "Let me know how the meeting goes."

He said it like he was giving an order to an underling, and he said it like he didn't even notice his own tone. Hashirama just smiled, amused. (He decided not to say "yes, sir," Madara might think he was being sarcastic.) "I'll do that."

Madara was almost to the door when it suddenly swung open. A mint-green and raspberry-pink blur rushed through, saying, "Sorry I'm la—"

She saw Madara, said something that sounded like "eek," and tried to stop her momentum; Madara took a step back and grabbed her by the shoulder. She came to a flustered stop, inches from Madara's face. "Um..."

Completely unfazed, Madara took a couple of steps back, and Hashirama finally got his first good look at the intruder: she had dark pink hair tied up in two buns, and her clothes—a narrow-sleeved mint-green kimono with a thin red obi—were rather soaked. Hashirama's first thought that between those hair-sticked buns (looked like cherries?) and her color scheme, she reminded him of ice cream. His second was that she must be miserable in those wet clothes. (He took no notice of how tightly her soaked garments clung to her body.)

She was staring at Madara as if he were the first fellow human she had ever seen. "Uh..."

"Can I help you?" Madara asked. He asked it as though he hoped he couldn't.

"Um! I'm... Are you... uh..." She cleared her throat. "H-Hokage-sama. Right?"

Hashirama couldn't see Madara's smile, but he could hear it in his voice: "Not yet." He gestured over his shoulder, toward Hashirama. "I believe you're looking for him?"

"Oh! Right. I'm sorry, I..." She started to bow, took a hasty step back so her head wouldn't hit Madara, finally executed a bow properly, mumbled, "Excuse me," and hurried past him. She stopped in front of Hashirama, and repeated, "Hokage-sama, right?"

"That's right." He tried not to laugh at her, poor thing.

"Right," she said again, and nodded. "I apologize for such an unprofessional entrance. I was taken rather by... surprise, right?" She almost started to turn to glance back at Madara, but stopped herself, and faced forward again. "Hokage-sama, it is my honor to be allowed to speak to you today. My name is Uzumaki Mito. I am here on behalf of Uzushiogakure, to represent my village's interests before the comparable representative of Konohagakure's interests, in the hopes of reaching a mutually beneficial and satisfactory arrangement." It came out solemnly and regally enough, but with just enough over-preciseness so that it was clear she was new to such formal speaking. Mito waited, watching Hashirama, as if she had just given a performance and was holding back until she saw if her audience would clap.

(Behind her, Hashirama could see Madara smirk and silently applaud. He quickly looked away. And out of the corner of his eye he saw Madara's grin disappear. As if—Hashirama imagined—Madara were disappointed Hashirama hadn't wanted to share the joke.)

"I see," he said. "I'm glad you made it. Would you, uh... like to take a moment to dry off?"

"Yes, thank you, Hokage-sama." She performed a few hand seals, and a small tornado sprung up from her hands, swallowed her body for a moment, and then moved aside and spun beside her. She squinted at it in annoyance, as though she wasn't sure what to do with it now, and then sent it out a window. "Um. Excuse me."

Uh. Well. Hashirama stared out the window to see if the tornado was about to go terrorize the village. He'd expected her to go to the bathroom and try to dry off. "That's... that's fine, Mito-san." Mito-san? Was that the right thing? Especially considering that she was a stronger ninja than he'd expected, if he could judge by that technique. He supposed Uzumaki-san would be more polite, but since he'd been expecting several other members of the Uzumaki clan to be here...

"A high-level technique," Madara murmured; Hashirama couldn't tell if his tone was supposed to express praise, envy, or suspicion. But rather than elaborate, he walked up alongside Mito and spoke to her. (She kept her eyes down, not looking at Madara.) "We'd been under the impression that there would be several delegates coming from your village. Were we mistaken?"

She started off addressing Madara, "No, we were delayed by the—" and then halfway through turned her attention back to Hashirama, "by the weather, right? I apologize for arriving so late, Hokage-sama. The road we were taking flooded, and our cart got stuck in the mud. They sent me ahead to act on behalf of the group while they stand guard over the cart until they can get it free. Again, I apologize for the inconvenience."

"So we're speaking to a substitute ambassador?" Madara said, then glanced at Hashirama, smirking. "Perhaps she should be speaking to the substitute Hokage, then, don't you think?"

Madara, of course, was the closest thing to a "substitute Hokage" the village had. Hashirama half-grinned back at Madara. "That's all right, I wouldn't want to draw you from your other duties."

"They can wait." Madara moved back behind Hashirama's desk and leaned against one of the thin posts between the glassless windows. "I think I'd rather see how this meeting goes, actually."

Hashirama's immediate thought was _that's going to shoot my concentration to hell._ (As it happened, so was Mito's.) "Of course, you're always welcome." Hashirama's next thought was _why am I complaining? He's probably a lot more interesting than the person I'm supposed to be talking to_. (As it happened, so was Mito's.)

Hashirama gestured in front of his desk. "Please, feel free to take a seat."

Mito glanced at the two seats in front of Hashirama's desk as if she were afraid of choosing the wrong one, and then quickly claimed the one closer to her, scooted it a bit closer to the desk, and proceeded to compose herself so that one couldn't tell she'd ever had a moment of doubt. She really was new at this diplomacy thing. (Hashirama had behaved the exact same way the first time he'd met the daimyo.) "Thank you, Hokage-sama."

"So, you're here to negotiate the alliance between Konoha and Uzushio?" Hashirama asked.

Mito hesitated. "Actually, I was instructed not to start negotiations yet, right?" she said. "I was sent ahead primarily to inform you that, due to our party's delays, we would like to begin negotiations tomorrow. They also wished for me to ask you to prepare lodgings for eleven people."

"What a lucky coincidence," Madara said, giving Mito a mischievous smile. "We were just discussing likely places for your camp, and—" (Hashirama gave him a Look, and he smoothly changed tack) "—I believe the Hokage had some ideas he wanted to run by you. Hokage-sama?"

Just for that, Hashirama might ask her how she felt about a lovely couple of buildings inside the Uchiha complex. (Except, of course, he wouldn't do that to Madara.) "Yes. Of course."

Mito's gaze, eyes shining, was locked on Madara's face (that smile of his). And something in her face was... Hashirama couldn't identify it, but her expression felt _familiar_, somehow... "Thank you. That's, uh..." From her facial expression Hashirama could imagine her thinking _wait, what should I say next say next? What's appropriate here?_ When it came to politics, he had days like that. (When it came to Madara, he had _many_ days like that.) "I mean, thank you very much, right? For your assistance."

Madara cocked an eyebrow at Hashirama to see if he wanted to jump in, and when he didn't, Madara cheerfully turned to Mito himself and said, "You're quite welcome." Having gladly taken credit for providing accommodations, Madara immediately transferred the burden of actually finding accommodations to Hashirama. "What were those ideas you had, Hokage-sama?" Mito turned her attention to Hashirama, and Madara's eyes said _your move, Senju._

"Ah. Yes. Well." Hashirama gave them both a helpless look that he hoped didn't actually look helpless. "I'm afraid we're going to have to improvise a bit, Mito-san. Konohagakure isn't exactly set up for accommodating guests yet."

"Oh. I see," Mito said. "Well, I suppose we could... set up tents somewhere, right...?" She stared dubiously through the window behind Hashirama, out at the rain.

"That won't be necessary," Hashirama said, trying desperately to think of a place to put the delegates. "I'm sure we can find somewhere for your party to stay," hopefully. He suddenly got an idea, and glanced at Madara. "In fact, there's a cluster of unused buildings we may be able to appropriate for you..." Your turn, Madara. (Hashirama hoped Madara would forgive him.)

The emotions in Madara's eyes were, in order, terror, rage, and mirth. "Oh yes, that's right," he said quickly, and addressed Mito. "The Hokage had mentioned putting your party in some of the neighborhoods constructed for civilian use." Several civilian families had come to Konoha, asking if they could move in, in order to benefit from the ninja clans' protection; and in return, they would provide their various services to the ninja citizens of Konoha. Already, a few small, scattered residential zones had sprung up for them. Hashirama was pretty sure all the houses had already been taken, but, if Madara knew of some that weren't...

Madara added, regally, "I apologize on behalf of Hokage-sama if you find it a bit... disrespectful that he wants the ambassadors from Uzushiogakure no Sato to lodge with _civilians._" Says the man who offered to write up a list of the reasons why the ambassadors should be pushed to the edge of civilization. _Your turn again, Senju._

Hashirama tried to glare at Madara, and didn't quite get there. "I would have been happy to ask a clan to share its complex with the delegates, but I seem to recall that the leader of the only clan with enough free space was threatening mutiny if I tried to put any guests in his complex."

"Ah, that's right," Madara said, all innocence. "A brilliant leader. But a _terrible_ team player. It's like he thinks he runs this village or something."

Hashirama choked back a laugh. He wondered if the people who went around criticizing Madara knew how closely he was listening to them. Or how well he could imitate them. "I'm sure he means well."

"I'm sure he'd be embarrassed to hear you say so."

Mito had a look on her face—eyes squinted, slightly frowning—that said she knew there was some joke here that she was missing but couldn't quite figure out what it was. Hashirama quickly got back on topic. "Why don't you go get the list of uninhabited houses in the... non-clan neighborhoods?"

"The civilian neighborhoods, you mean?" Madara straightened up and headed for the door. "Should I bring the map, too?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

Hashirama tried not to stare, but he _did_ watch Madara from behind as he left the office. (As it happened, so did Mito.)

As soon as the door closed, Mito lost all signs of professionalism and leaned over Hashirama's desk, eyes shining. "Who—was—_that!_"

No question who she was referring to. "Uchiha Madara-sama," Hashirama said. "The leader of the Uchiha clan, one of the founders of Konohagakure no Sato, and likely the strongest shinobi in the world." Hashirama didn't even think before heaping the praise on Madara. In many cases, he would stop beforehand—just to think about how his audience might interpret his... enthusiasm. But something in Mito's face was so familiar, something he understood... He doubted that would be a problem with her. Besides, what was wrong with praising Madara?

She seemed to hear the words with no notice of who was saying them. "He's an _Uchiha?_" Hashirama nodded, but couldn't get a word in edgewise. Mito's eyes squinted again in concentration as she processed that. "Uchiha Madara-sama... So—so, _that's_ what the Sharingan looks like, right?" (Hashirama nodded again.) "I'd always heard—from your clan's reports—that the Sharingan was, that it looked all bloody or like fire and brimstone or something but... He's _gorgeous,_ right?"

Hashirama grinned. He didn't know why this amused him so much. "That's the general consensus." (Actually, he had never really _asked_ other people what they thought about how Madara looked, but... if Hashirama, a totally uninvolved third party, could notice it, surely it was self-evident?)

"That's what all their eyes look like, right?"

"Only part of the time. Most of them..." How to explain this? "Their eyes... change color, when they use the Sharingan. The rest of the time their eyes are pretty normal. Madara's the only one I know who always keeps his Sharingan on." Much to Hashirama's distraction.

"Do _all_ the Uchiha look like him, right?"

(Hashirama was beginning to realize that Mito's tendency to stick "right" to the end of every sentence was more of a verbal tic than anything else.) "Well... they all look a bit similar, but... Madara-sama's really in a category all his own."

"I can _imagine_." She wasn't even looking at Hashirama anymore, she was staring off at something only she could see. "That's... he is _gorgeous_."

That time, he laughed. "Yeah," he said. "He is."

"He actually _lives_ in Konohagakure, right?"

"Of course, in the Uchiha complex." Well, supposedly. Whenever Hashirama went looking for him in the complex, it seemed nobody knew where he was (unless the Uchiha were just lying, but why would they do that?), and in any case Hashirama seemed to run into him all over the place at all kinds of crazy times of day and night. Plus, he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time in the half-constructed Hokage Residence.

Mito's eyes were so, so bright, so eager. "Is he single?"

Pause. "Excuse me?"

There was the briefest fraction of a second of awkward silence, during which Hashirama realized he had said something very, very wrong. (As it happened, so did Mito.)

Mito quickly said, "I'm sorry, Hokage-sama, that was—that was completely inappropriate of me. Right? I shouldn't have—"

"No, I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting... er, yes, I think he is... single, at least I haven't heard that he's—"

They both fell silent, shared one awkward look, and glanced away from each other. Hashirama didn't think twice about Mito's intentions, because he was so busy berating himself for saying too much. (As it happened, so was Mito.)

"My apologies. I shouldn't have asked." She didn't look up.

"No, it's perfectly fine." He didn't look up. "I was just surprised, because, you see... Ah, Madara-sama lost his brother, some time ago. I'm not sure how long the traditional mourning period is in the Uchiha clan, but as far as I know he's still in mourning. So I expect he isn't looking into courting anyone right now." Oh, that was the _dumbest_ excuse ever. If Madara's brother had died before the initial Senju/Uchiha truce, that meant he'd been dead over two years now...

Mito inhaled sharply. "Oh, is that so! I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't have any idea, right?"

"No, I wouldn't expect you to, there's no reason why you would. But you understand."

"Of course, absolutely."

And they could finally glance at each other again and exchange sheepish smiles. On some level, of course, they both knew the excuse was a load of garbage. But it allowed them both to save face. Mito had not behaved inappropriately, because she had not been made aware of certain information and thus wasn't at fault; Hashirama had not reacted based on any personal feelings toward Madara, but because of certain information he _did_ have about Madara. When Mito and Hashirama actually made eye contact again, they both had some small amount of gratitude in their eyes—in Mito's, because Hashirama had given her an excuse to maintain her dignity; and in Hashirama's, because Mito had willingly bought his excuse.

The door opened, and they both started guiltily. Madara paused, partway into the room, and scanned both their faces before proceeding. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, watching them suspiciously.

They hastened to assure him that he was not.

Not much more progress was made in that meeting—not that much needed to be made, thankfully. Madara displayed the map and pointed out all the houses that were available as temporary lodging in the civilian neighborhoods, Mito eventually stammered out that any of these available houses would be fine, so if she could please be informed which houses they would be lodged in she would be grateful; and she had better take the list of houses back with her, to tell the others where they would be staying, if she were allowed to do so.

Of course, Hashirama said, she was allowed, but they had to keep the master list here. If she could wait a moment for Hashirama to go and find someone to make a copy of the documents...

Which was when Madara stepped forward, gave Hashirama an _oh, come on_ look, pulled several papers and a pen out of Hashirama's desk, started his eyes spinning, and in several seconds had copied the entire map and accompanying list of properties. Mito just gaped, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, as Madara circled a few random houses, and then handed over the papers.

"You're welcome," Madara said.

Mito took a moment to recover from her shock before she managed to get out, "Thank you, Madara-sama."

She stood, bowed, and almost ran for the door. She stopped one last time to cast a bright-eyed glance over her shoulder, before she left.

As soon as the door shut, Madara glanced at Hashirama, smirking. "You're welcome, too."

Hashirama half-smiled. "Thanks. I should have thought of that." (Actually, he had, but he was still scared to actually _ask_ Madara to do things for him. Anything to avoid offending him.) "I guess I'm still not used to what the Sharingan can do."

"Funny," Madara said. "You seemed quite accustomed to it on the battlefield."

To Hashirama, the cadence and undertones of the comment sounded almost exactly the same as those behind a comment like "That's not what you said last night." The fake-innocent raised-eyebrows look Madara gave him when he turned to stare did nothing to lessen that impression. Had Madara meant—surely he hadn't—but what if he were trying to say—it was just a comment about the battlefield—but what about seeing underneath the underneath—was there even any underneath to see—but, but the obsession, that Hashirama had, from the battlefield—couldn't Madara possibly have the same—

(Dammit dammit _dammit_ Hashirama would you _listen_ to yourself, Madara is _not_ trying to—to—to _come on_ to you, what is _wrong_ with you for thinking that, what is wrong with you for _wanting_ that—)

The comment left him so flustered, in fact, that it wasn't until after Madara had dropped his fake innocent look and begun warily analyzing Hashirama's expression that he came back to his senses. He quickly looked away from Madara.

"Well... sure," he said, trying his hardest to sound normal. (Say something clever say something clever _hurry up!_) "I just never equated the Sharingan with paperwork, I suppose." It was meant to be a half-joke, but Hashirama didn't even attempt smiling, because he knew it wouldn't work.

There was a long, hard silence from Madara. (Could silences be hard?) "I see." (Well, his tone was hard...)

After a moment, Madara stacked all the papers on Hashirama's desk together, picked them up, and headed for the door. "I've got other work to do," he said, _almost_ casually. "By the way, I hope you're aware of what you just did?"

Hashirama's blood froze. (Could blood freeze?) That was never a good sentence. Had Madara picked up on something? Did he suspect that Hashirama, that he— "What?" What could he be talking about, maybe... oh, perhaps— "Oh, Madara-sama, I hope you weren't offended by, uh..." By what, by the fact that Hashirama had said he was sure Madara meant well? "I wouldn't have actually put the delegates in your complex—"

"Not that," Madara said. "You just let an unknown kunoichi, claiming to be representing Uzushiogakure but neither presenting any evidence nor arriving with any other Uzushio ambassadors, waltz out of your office with a detailed map and full schematics of every structure in this village."

Hashirama stared at Madara. Oh. Hell.

"You really didn't notice?" Fury danced through Madara's eyes. "Even after that _ridiculous_ story—a bunch of _ninja_ getting a cart stuck in the mud, not being able to get it free _themselves_, and staying behind to _guard it?_ And you _bought_ that?" For a moment, Madara... changed. From the sullen, sarcastic, secretive man who had consented for over a year to helping lead Konoha from the shadows, into the warrior Hashirama had known before he'd even learned his name. This was the man who had once said he would give his life to defend or avenge his clan. This was the man Hashirama had first fallen in—

(no no no shut up shut up)

And the look on Madara's face was one that usually indicated he'd start breathing fire any second now. "You didn't even _notice_," he snarled. "You call yourself the _leader_ of your ridiculous village and that didn't _occur to you?_ What happy world did you come from where there's no such thing as spies and traitors? I at least expected you to be able to tell me that you _knew_ that there was really a woman named Uzumaki Mito, or that she presented some sort of credentials while I was gone—something!" Hashirama could say nothing. Oh _hell_.

Madara, naturally, got angrier. "What in the name of the Six-Pathed Sage did you _talk_ about with her?" He was only just barely not shouting. "I already know that you are a great _many_ things, Senju, but I never suspected you were also one of those incompetent airheads who loses all intelligence when _a set of nipples walk into the room!_"

Madara slammed the door.

Leaving behind a completely baffled Hashirama.

Wait.

Huh?

Wait wait wait what? What?

Oh. Now that Hashirama thought about it, Mito had come in completely soaked, had her kimono been clinging to her—

Wait wait _wait!_ Madara thought that Hashirama had been _eyeing_ her? That he had been so engrossed in her breasts, of all things, that he had let her walk in and out of his office without a single skeptical thought entering his head? That, that was nearly as bad as suspecting the truth.

At that point, any normal man (that is, a man with nothing wrong with him) would think, _Madara must think I spend half my spare time chasing ladies._ Hashirama thought, _Madara must suspect I'm a man of dreams_.

Because wasn't it true? _Wasn't_ it? Wasn't he one? _Obviously_ this meant Madara must be half-skeptical that Hashirama was one, and if he was, then, then, then it was only the simplest of logical to leaps from "He was fantasizing about Mito, he must be a man of dreams," to "Why is he always staring at _me_...?"

Hashirama had to be overreacting oh please oh please let him be wrong, it wasn't like he was even interested in Mito, he hadn't even been leering at her—had he? He hadn't noticed himself noticing her, er... clothing, but he remembered her appearance now, so obviously he _had_ noticed, was that normal? On some unconscious level had he been lusting after her without even _noticing?_ That was a _ridiculous_ idea but if he were really a man of dreams, then he must have—

No. No. No. No, he reminded himself, he was not a man of dreams. He would have been if he were in... _love_ with Madara, if, if he actually wanted to... to... But he _didn't_. His emotions towards Madara were nothing strange, just...

(_They had been enemies! They had fought each other and fought each other and fought each other dozens and hundreds of times! Of course there would be some effect on the way Hashirama thought about him now! It was all perfectly normal! There. Was. Nothing. NOTHING. Wrong. With. Him._)

... just an odd reaction to their former relationship, their relationship on the battlefield.

(_So Hashirama told himself, over and over._)

He was not—dammit—not _in love_ with Madara.

He was not a man of dreams, and he did not _love_ Madara.

He was not a man of dreams, and he had not been leering at Mito.

He was not a man of dreams—but what if Madara thought he was?

From somewhere out in the hallway, Madara shouted furiously, "But you don't have a thing to worry about, oh mighty Hokage-sama! After all, Uchiha Madara-sama, your _loyal_ and _obedient_ subordinate, has taken precautions to ensure the safety of your village's most important citizens! He made sure to incorrectly copy the part of the map detailing the schematics of the Uchiha complex!"

Stab. Hashirama deserved that.

Hashirama did not waste thought on the fact that Madara was openly deriding him in a way that could be considered grossly insubordinate; nor did he wonder why Madara himself hadn't checked Mito's credentials, or why Madara had voluntarily copied the map and handed it over without a word of warning; nor did he wonder why Madara was satisfied with yelling at Hashirama and leaving, rather than proposing they send somebody to stop Mito and check her story out (and Hashirama, for his own part, felt so defeated that it never crossed his mind that if she _were_ a spy, she still could and probably should be stopped); nor did he wonder why Madara had taken the trouble to miscopy the Uchiha complex but left the rest of the map perfectly accurate.

(Of course, there was a simple answer to all of these unasked questions: Madara didn't actually give a damn what happened to Konoha as long as it didn't harm his own clan. But, of course, the questions remained unasked. Hashirama would not let himself find fault with Madara.)

Instead, he wasted thought on wondering what Madara thought about him—what did that mean, that he knew Hashirama was many things but hadn't suspected he was also an airhead? "Also"? And on wondering how in the hell he was going to make this monstrous blunder up to Madara. And wondering why he had been so off-kilter in the first place. And wondering why in the world he had said those things to Mito.

Hell, what _had_ he said to her? Had he actually agreed when she'd said that Madara was gorgeous? Out _loud?_ Why had he done that! Hashirama should _not even be THINKING THOSE THINGS_, much less _agreeing_ with somebody else on them!

Hashirama dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, wrapped his fingers in his hair, and just sat there. He didn't know how long. Trying to find a way to convince himself that he was sane, that he was normal, that he wasn't a man of dreams.

And praying that he hadn't said too much to Mito.

xxxxx


	8. Benefits of Alliance: Year Three

A/N: Wow, I'm almost early this week. Nice! Thank you all so much for the reviews, it's always nice to know people are actually reading and enjoying this. Hope you all like this chapter, and... I can't think of anything to add this time. Hmm.

Anyway, please remember to review and let me know what you think, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter as well!

xxxxx

_Benefits of Alliance_

xxx

Mito became the sole official ambassador from Uzushio to Konoha.

She was not, by the way, a spy.

(If she had been, she would have been dead within hours. Madara had followed her from the Hokage Residence all the way back to where she'd left the rest of the delegates, and watched them, concealed, until he saw one that he personally knew was an Uzumaki. And then he had returned to Konoha. People were so used to his being unlocatable for a few hours that they never realized he'd left. He never told anyone what he'd done.)

The cart they'd been bringing to Konoha had indeed gotten stuck in the mud, just as Mito had claimed. The delegates could have pulled it out easily; however, considering that it was full of delicately-painted scrolls—some of which were "painted" with powders just barely brushed on—containing information about seals that they wanted to share with Konoha, they thought it would be safer to try to avoid jostling the cart or getting its contents wet. Better to wait for the ground to firm up a bit, dig the cart out, carefully lift it, and continue on.

They were going to offer these scrolls as a goodwill gesture of faith, sharing their village's secrets in hopes that Konoha would do the same. They were pleased and a little sheepish that Konoha had made an offering first, by giving them the map to their village.

Despite Madara's paranoid worries ("wise precautions," Hashirama would think), the Uzushio delegates did not use the maps to blow up Konoha. Even though—judging by the uses for some of the seals they gave Konoha—they could have done so quite easily.

Madara, of course, made no indication that he planned on apologizing to Hashirama for his outburst.

Hashirama, of course, was just glad that Madara was no longer angry at him for endangering the village, and made no indication that he expected Madara to apologize.

Apologize? Apologize for what? Madara could do no wrong.

xxx

The next day, the Uzushio delegates showed Hashirama the map they had received from Madara, when they were thanking Hashirama for so trustingly sharing his information with them. Trustingly. Sure. (So naively.)

Madara had said that he had changed the layout of the Uchiha complex, hadn't he? As Hashirama spoke with the delegates, he idly glanced at the map, looking for the Uchiha complex, to see if he could tell what had been changed.

He couldn't even _find_ the Uchiha complex. How much had Madara changed it? Maybe he'd even altered the boundaries of the complex. Hashirama looked for the Senju complex to orient himself.

He couldn't find the Senju complex. He kindly asked the Uzushio delegation if he could borrow their map, he thought there might be a minor error. They kindly allowed him to do so.

He compared Madara's map to the original map of Konoha. All of the major roads were the same, every slight curve and corner recreated with Sharingan-guided perfection, stringing out from the Hokage Residence like the thin green veins growing from the stem of a leaf. All of the major landmarks were copied with equal perfection: the Residence itself, the wall around Konoha, the entrance gates, the line representing the ridge of the cliff above the village, and a few other lesser but still notable landmarks. And the civilian neighborhoods were marked correctly. Even the names of the streets and landmarks were written in the exact same handwriting as the original map. In other words, the map accurately and identically displayed all the landmarks the delegates needed to find their temporary quarters and all the notable landmarks they were sure to see and recognize anyway.

Nothing else was right.

Outside of those few landmarks, Hashirama couldn't find a single structure he recognized. There were plenty of labels, certainly. Every bit of space was stuffed with buildings, except for the undeveloped land that didn't have buildings yet but would soon—just like on the original map. But they were all _wrong_. Hashirama discovered a few places where, if he turned the map sideways or upside-down or backwards and moved it around a bit, he could get some of the smaller patches of buildings to _almost_ line up with the original map, but not in any sort of way that made sense. It was like Madara had cut up the map of Konoha into tiny pieces, reassembled maybe a fifth of it, taken the other pieces, thrown out half of them, pasted down the remaining pieces wherever there was space in whatever order he grabbed them, and made up the rest based on what he thought would look good.

The entire map was neatly, precisely, and meticulously wrong.

All he told the delegates from Uzushiogakure was that the map was a bit out of date and he'd get them a new one.

He didn't directly ask Madara about the map. But a few days later he did ask, "Why did you only change the layout of the Uchiha complex on the map?"

Madara gave Hashirama a look as if to say the last thing in the world he wanted to do was have to answer this question. "I'm not going to tell you how to look after the rest of your village, Hokage-sama," he said. "If you want to hand a full map of Konoha over to a complete stranger, fine by me. I won't question your decision." (Never mind that he _had_ questioned it, rather loudly and angrily.) "But as the person responsible for the safety of my clan, I'm not going to let you endanger them."

Hashirama didn't question Madara further. Madara looked, for a moment, like he considered adding something, but then thought better of it and didn't. Hashirama didn't mind.

He was happy.

Madara wasn't working against Konoha. And he wasn't just cooperating because he wanted Hashirama's job. And no matter what he said, he wasn't just reluctantly helping out merely because his clan told him to.

He had voluntarily done something—something small, but significant—to protect Konoha. Some of Madara's critics might have said, sure, of course he'll help Konoha if it will increase his own reputation, if it will get him that much closer to replacing Hashirama as the leader. However, he _hadn't_ done it to increase his own reputation, because he hadn't even _admitted_ what he'd done. He had even risked making himself look worse by claiming he'd only tried to protect his own clan. He had _lied_, he had _said_ he was only protecting his clan, when he had protected the whole village.

This was proof that Madara wasn't looking for glory. This was proof that Madara considered himself not only responsible for his clan's safety, but for the whole village's safety. (In his mind, Hashirama was triumphantly defending Madara against some unreasonable detractor. Maybe Tobirama.)

That was all the evidence it took to satisfy Hashirama. But, really, he would have been satisfied with nothing at all.

xxx

Time passed.

For a while, things were stable, things were fine. Konoha grew, became something a bit less experimental, a bit more permanent.

For a while, nothing really changed. At least not for Hashirama.

Plenty of village politics happened, but those aren't really the focus here, are they?

The focus is Uchiha Madara.

The same focus that Hashirama has always had.

So time passed; nothing happened. Or, rather, very little happened.

The little things were the most important things. The little things were the only things Hashirama could share with Madara.

For a while—for, maybe it was a few months, maybe even to Konoha's second anniversary, maybe even to the fourth anniversary of that barely-remembered day when they had first met (why couldn't they have had more time together)— they were actually, by some measures, close. Almost daily, barring a few missions or other duties, they were with other, or at least saw each other. Eventually, Hashirama could almost _understand_ Madara. Almost, not quite, almost, never entirely, but almost. He understood how Madara's clan worked, how he thought about his family. He understood Madara's relationship with his brother. Hashirama understood the way he _himself_ looked, the way _his_ family looked, in Madara's eyes. He could almost, almost, almost understand. And he only obsessed more.

(And Madara, even if he never admitted it, never even hinted at it, was starting to respect Hashirama. He had said he wanted peace, and he had peace. He had said he would respect the clans, and he respected the clans. He had said he thought of Madara as his equal, and he treated him as an equal. Even though he was so powerful. More than anything else, Madara respected power. Power was the only thing worth respecting. And Hashirama had more of _that_ than anyone else Madara had ever met.)

(Yet, Hashirama still believed in love. With all his power, he still believed that love would save the world. And Madara didn't understand it, but. But, he had to respect it. Power was the only _thing_ worth respecting, but the only _people_ worth respecting were the ones who wielded power most efficiently. And Hashirama wielded his power efficiently enough to be able to do everything he wanted to do, without for a moment disrupting the illusion that he was succeeding through the use of love. Madara did not agree with Hashirama on anything—but he did respect him.)

(The way an unstoppable sword respects an indestructible shield.)

Time passed; nothing happened.

It was the most wonderful nothing of Hashirama's life.

xxx

The first idea Konoha imported from Uzushio: a better way to display their fancy leaf symbol.

They had been looking for a way to show it off. Since all the clans wanted to continue wearing their own clan symbols, nobody could think of a way to incorporate Konoha's symbol into everyone's clothing.

The solution came from Uzushiogakure. Forehead protectors.

Everybody knew what forehead protectors were. Very few people wore them, because it was just silly to imagine that such a tiny strip of metal would actually do any good. Why the forehead? It was as good as strapping a piece of metal the size of your fist over your heart; you're still in trouble if somebody gets a kunai into your lungs around it.

But Uzushiogakure had turned it from a piece of armor into a fashion accessory. Every ninja in their village wore a forehead protector, with Uzushiogakure's symbol carved into its surface.

It was a brilliant solution. Now, ninja from Konoha didn't have to run around with big flags for people to know where they were from. Flags got rather cumbersome in the heat of battle, and they made for fairly obvious targets by enemy ninja.

And so, they could wear Konoha's symbol on forehead protectors, and still wear their clan symbols on their clothing.

There are always unexpected benefits to little alliances like this.

xxx

In the excitement of Uzushiogakure's new alliance with Konohagakure, everyone had completely ignored the fact that, at the same time Hashirama had been meeting with the new Uzukage, Madara had been meeting with the Land of Fire's daimyo.

This remained forgotten until (far after the fact), the daimyo sent a follow-up letter to the Hokage. (Hashirama would get used to the fact that the Land of Fire's daimyo was in the habit of taking his sweet time in responding to matters of diplomatic importance. This was one of the reasons why Konoha would grow into such a powerful political entity in its own right; the Hokage would often responded to crises, both domestic and foreign, long before the daimyo did.)

In his letter, the daimyo praised the progress of Konoha (as Madara had reported it), and agreed to support the village on several of the policies and projects they wanted to pursue.

One of these was greater latitude for Konoha to take on missions from clients outside of the Land of Fire; that had been something Madara in particular had wanted, and Hashirama was glad to see the daimyo had approved.

Another one was a change in Konoha's martial status; from a military force directly under the daimyo's control, to a semi-independent militia. Not so much that it didn't still answer to the daimyo, of course, but enough so that it would have some small power to declare war—or to choose not to.

Hashirama stared at the daimyo's letter. That was something Hashirama had wanted. But he hadn't added that to the list of things he'd wanted Madara to discuss with the daimyo, because he'd thought the daimyo would never agree to... How did the daimyo even _know_ Hashirama wanted to...

Then he remembered: hadn't he mentioned this to Madara, once? That he was worried about Konoha's being so completely under the daimyo's control, that if the Land of Fire declared war then Konoha would be dragged into it... Madara had scoffed at Hashirama's fears. Not because he thought they were implausible, but because he thought they were inevitable. Madara had said that trying so hard to avoid war was pointless. He'd said, "As long as this world holds something worth fighting for, people will fight for it." Hashirama hadn't brought it up again.

And Madara had remembered that conversation? And Madara had brought it up to the daimyo, without any orders to discuss it? And Madara had convinced the daimyo to go along with Hashirama's wishes, even though he himself disagreed with them?

He hadn't even told Hashirama about what he'd done.

Why had he done that?

(Maybe Madara liked Hashirama! Oh joy, oh glorious day!)

At the end of the note, the daimyo praised Hashirama personally and all he had accomplished so far. He said that he was impressed with what he was doing with Konoha, and by extension, with what he was doing for the Land of Fire, and that he could clearly see that Hashirama was quite a strong and capable leader indeed.

Hashirama had no idea what the daimyo was talking about. He didn't think he'd really done anything all that significant yet.

What had Madara been saying about him...?

(Maybe he'd said, maybe he thought, maybe he felt—maybe as much as Hashirama had this this this... obsession, maybe Madara also... Or maybe it was just politics. As much as Hashirama would like to believe that Madara might feel... well... it would take more than a friendly letter from the daimyo to honestly make him think that, maybe... oh, never mind. Why was he even thinking about this? What was wrong with him, this was stupid.)

So much for those people who assumed Madara was taking every opportunity possible to undermine Hashirama's authority.

(Oh glorious, marvelous day!)

xxx

Mito was the first foreign diplomat to visit Konoha on a regular basis—every few weeks, for a few days at a time, spent partially hashing out the specifics of the treaty between their villages, but also on developing a joint Konoha-Uzushio strategy for foreign diplomacy between ninja villages. Uzushio had heard of a similar ninja village springing up in the Land of Water; and Konoha had been approached by members of the Kamizuru clan, asking for advice for founding a village in the Land of Earth. Soon, these villages would need a general strategy for dealing with each other—a strategy that didn't need daimyo involvement and that didn't rely on warfare. At other times, Hashirama and Mito discussed the Wood-Release-and-seal-powered bijuu-sealing technique that their clans had developed, were perfecting, and intended to use as soon as possible.

And sometimes they discussed their mutual interests. (Or interest, really.)

Anyone who has gotten this far should know damn well what that interest is.

xxx

"I haven't seen Madara-sama in a while," Mito said, staring vaguely off into space, almost as if she were looking for him. (It's probably a good thing that Hashirama never knew how often he made that same facial expression when Madara came up.)

Neither of them _had_ been talking about Madara. In fact, he hadn't even been vaguely related to the topic at hand. They had been discussing the possibility of a world forum of hidden ninja villages (they were both in favor of one) and how to convince the other villages it was a good idea. Really, they _had_ been on topic and they _had_ been working. Really. They'd made a lot of progress, too.

But Hashirama hardly considered it a non sequitur to start talking about Madara. Why _wouldn't_ they start talking about Madara? "He's on a mission outside of Konoha," Hashirama said. But Mito would want to know more, he was sure. And Hashirama liked talking about Madara. "He was hired to locate and eliminate a clan that has declared war on the Land of Rivers. _Personally_ hired." Because Madara was just that awesome.

"A whole clan?" Mito asked, her face scrunching a bit in worry.

Well, it was a small clan, but. "I'm sure that Madara-sama will be able to handle it, Uzumaki-dono."

Mito relaxed slightly. "I'm sure."

(Of course, completely eliminating a clan meant killing everyone. Not just shinobi and kunoichi but the civilian men and women, the children, the babies. Neither Mito nor Hashirama let themselves think about that. If Madara was doing it, it was fine, wasn't it? Of course it was.)

This was among the first of many diplomatic meetings between the leader of the Senju clan and Konohagakure, and a representative from the Uzumaki clan and Uzushiogakure. Most would think that it would be more fitting for the _actual_ leader of the Uzumaki clan and Uzushiogakure to visit—the tentatively titled Uzukage—but in truth, Mito was more powerful and more internationally respected than he was. The only reason she wasn't the Uzukage was because she hadn't actually been the one to found the village. Everyone expected that, when the time came to choose a successor to the Uzukage (it seemed so far away, the possibility of having to choose _successors_), Mito would be the first choice—if she didn't first marry into another village for the purpose of political alliance. Hashirama was sure that she would be well-suited no matter what she did, though. She would make an excellent Uzukage, but she would make an equally excellent wife.

(Hashirama, as much as he respected women, wasn't exactly the most progressive man to ever live. He thought that it was just fine for a woman to delay taking on the noble womanly duties of marriage and motherhood and do something else with her life, as long as she was _sure_ that was what she really wanted to do, but he was always a bit puzzled when a woman claimed that _was_ what she really wanted. Had he somehow survived long enough to see what would become of his granddaughter, he would certainly be proud of her for taking up the Hokage mantle but he would be equally baffled at her for never marrying that Jiraiya she obviously liked so much, wasn't that what women were supposed to do? It's probably lucky he didn't live that long, because had he ever brought it up in that way, Tsunade might have broken a few of his ribs for being so infuriatingly old-fashioned.)

"It isn't the same here when he's not around, is it?" Mito said. "Here" could mean anything from the specific meeting room where they were talking, to the Hokage Residence, to Konohagakure no Sato all together. But Hashirama understood.

"No, it's not. Everything's just... so much more interesting, when he's around."

"You mean that in the best way possible, right?"

Hashirama laughed. She had a point. If Tobirama had been the one to call Madara's presence "interesting," it would have been an insult. "Of course I do. You know how much I—" (and the wrong word almost slipped out but did not) "think of Madara-sama," he said. "He does wonderful work for Konoha. And it's just a... a pleasure, working with him. Konoha really wouldn't exist without him..." (See? Now _he's_ got that vaguely staring expression.)

Mito nodded, her eyes brightening with each word of praise for Madara, clearly hanging on to every word. "So, what else has he been doing lately?" she asked. "I haven't heard much about my counterpart in Konoha lately." (Mito had taken to referring to Madara as such, since she was basically the second-in-command of Uzushio and Madara was basically the second-in-command of Konoha. Besides, she _liked_ the description.)

Well, forget the world forum, who cared about the world forum anyway?

"Let's see... He and I had a meeting with the Land of Fire's daimyo, a few weeks ago." With several daimyo, actually. The Land of Fire's had wanted to show off the leaders of his little ninja village to his peers. (He treated Konoha like a pedigree pit bull. Useful as a guard dog, enjoyable to trot out and show off to friends, but at the end of the day deserving no more respect than an expensive but ugly pet.) Naturally, he'd forgotten to send the letters out in a timely manner and had given them all of two days to prepare.

"Really? Not just one of you, right?"

"Right, the daimyo insisted on meeting with us both. We had a field day trying to find somebody to fill in for us at the Hokage Residence." They eventually settled on Kagayaki Koori, who was an efficient and obedient bureaucrat, but too subservient to do much of anything ambitious on his own. At least, Madara had said, they knew he wouldn't try to take over Konoha while they were gone. But Mito wouldn't care to hear any of that.

Mito laughed politely. "So... Hokage-dono, you got to go _with_ Madara-sama, right?"

"Yeah. Sure."

(Never mind that most other people would consider it ridiculous to suggest that the Hokage was the one tagging along with someone else to some event. Hashirama, at least, had sure felt like he was the one receiving an honor, getting to go somewhere with Madara.)

Eyes shining eagerly, hungry for any little bit of data, she leaned forward. "What did he wear?"

It would have been an utterly outrageous question.

If it weren't for the fact that Hashirama remembered.

And was more than excited to talk about it.

"He had this... beautiful red jacket, it was almost the same color as his eyes..."

That was what they talked about, when they weren't working.

The many "interests" they had in common.

(Within five minutes, they were trying to come up with a phrase to adequately describe the color and texture of Madara's hair. They were laughing at their own nonsense the whole time, they knew how ridiculous they were—but it didn't discourage them in the slightest.)

Somehow, they never ran out of things to talk about. The conversation was always stimulating, always interesting. It never got boring or repetitive. There were some days when they could talk for hours, until they were reminded of their other duties.

(They finally settled on "black like the smoke of a midnight fire." Aloud, they both agreed that it was quite a silly description and weren't they silly for thinking of it? Inside, they both felt like it was completely accurate.)

It was nice to know someone who shared their interests. Neither one ever found anybody else who did. At least, when Hashirama tried to talk about his interests, nobody else seemed intrigued, or they seemed a little uncomfortable with the subject matter—or at the very least Hashirama feared that they would start to get uncomfortable, he was always so nervous bringing up his interests... He never felt that way with Mito, though. They were free to talk about whatever they wanted with each other. Maybe that was just a side-effect of being at the top, Hashirama acting as leader of Konohagakure and Mito acting as the representative of Uzushiogakure, and both of them in leadership positions in their clans. But for whatever reason, they never able talked to anyone else about their interests.

(Black like the smoke of a midnight fire. As cold as the moon and as hot as an inferno. Black deeper than the darkness of the sky, a black that chokes out starlight. Roiling and coiling and drifting and twirling and always burning burning black. A smoke that smothers, that sucks the oxygen, the air, the life out of you. A blackness that suffocates you in an inescapable, irresistible heat. A smoke that leads you to that all-concealing, all-revealing, all-consuming, all-seeing fire.)

Hashirama supposed he and Mito were just a lot alike.

(And that fire was his soul, heart, and blood. You could smell it in his words, you could see it in his beautiful beautiful eyes, you could feel it—if you were brave enough—you could feel it in his skin, his face, his lips...)

Yes. They were just a lot alike.

(Yes, _yes_, that was Madara, oh yes, that was Madara. If they could not hold him in their arms they would hold him in their gazes; when they could not hold him in their gazes they would hold him in their words.)

A thought that had been suggested to Hashirama, once or twice, by people who knew how well he and Mito got along: perhaps they should get married?

(Madara was the wedge between them. Eventually that wedge would vanish. And then they would have no choice but to fall into each other's arms—united by love, perhaps, but not united in love.)

It would be beneficial for their clans, their villages... it was something to think about, at least.

(They were just a lot alike.)

xxxxx


	9. Like Schoolgirl Gossip: Year Three

A/N: In which I spend a chapter speculating on Konoha's gender dynamics and making the Uchiha clan look a bit weird. (Oh, I have not yet begun to weird up the Uchiha.) Might I add that I have logical reasons for weirding them up? ... I just haven't explained them yet.

Thanks for all your reviews last chapter, please remember to review this one, and I hope you all enjoy.

xxxxx

_Like Schoolgirl Gossip_

xxx

A word on gender bias.

Hashirama's reasons for having to hide his true opinions on Madara were clear and made perfect sense. At least, they made sense in his mind. Mito had her own reasons for hiding her emotions from everybody but a kindred spirit. Her reasons were probably a bit better than Hashirama's.

Some behaviors that were appropriate for normal people were absolutely inappropriate for the upper ranks of society. Konoha and Uzushio were villages of ninja, true, but a ninja is also a human; although all ninja are equal on the battlefield (at least in terms of rank), politics are the same in _all_ parts of human society—including the ninja parts.

A teen kunoichi could moon over a handsome shinobi, talking about how gorgeous he is and what a wonderful ninja he is. She could giggle about him with her friends, make up excuses to walk past him, fantasize about marrying him. That's just what girls _do_. Obviously. Since the primary function of a female is to get married and have children, it only makes sense if a girl on the verge of womanhood spends a majority of her time worrying about that all-important Other, that Man who shall be her husband and the father of her children. _Obviously_. What else would a young lady do with her time?

(As a side note, Mito had spent her adolescent years with her kimono hiked up to her knees so that she could prance across the surface of a wide river near her home village, where she could be left in peace on the opposite bank as she tried to develop a technique. She had been trying to create a technique that used both shape transformation—molding the chakra into a funnel—and nature transformation—making use of her personal affinity toward wind-natured chakra. She now used the result of her efforts to dry her clothes via tornado. And kill enemies.)

(She liked playing with toads, too.)

A young girl could giggle about a boy, because presumably, some man was going to be the most important part of her life. But what about an ambassador from another village, a diplomat, someone who was supposed to represent a political entity with dignity and neutrality? A _woman_ ambassador? Women were supposedly weak and emotional, or so was the common knowledge.

Even if a certain kunoichi could find someone attractive as all heck _and_ _still_ remain an effective diplomat, nobody would believe it. Everyone would assume that the moment she developed an interest in a male, all her political competence would fly out the window. If women were _supposed_ to get marry and have children, then any woman who _didn't_ was, obviously, fighting against her basic instincts, and at a moment's notice she could revert back to her instinctive nature. Mito was lucky that Konoha was progressive enough to respect a woman delegate. As long as she didn't act womanly.

A woman in as high a position as Mito could not afford to be accused of any sort of sentimental wimpishness. Demonstrating a public interest in some man—not even that, but her exact political opposite, she being ranked one step below the Uzukage and he being ranked one step below the Hokage—would undermine her respectability entirely. It was unprofessional. It was unacceptable.

Even some eighty years later (give or take), when Mito's own granddaughter was the leader of Konoha, such assumptions about the frailty of women were still in place: even then, adult women went through life having been raised with the idea that, as females, it was their duty to flee rather than fight for their comrades, so that they could live to provide grandchildren at their fathers' requests; and even _that_ was an improvement over conditions in Mito's times.

So, where did that leave Mito? In nearly the same position as Hashirama. Neither considered themselves to be Madara's lovesick little devotees; neither considered themselves childish. Neither of them thought too deeply about why they just _knew_ there were some things they could not say. But they knew it all the same. One fearing suspicion of being a man of dreams, the other fearing suspicion of being too feminine, in both cases dreading suspicion of being foolish, wishy-washy, overemotional, unprofessional, and worst of all, unfit to represent their people.

So of course they turned to each other, these fellow sufferers. They had nowhere else to turn.

xxx

A word on honorifics.

Everybody in Konoha called Senju Hashirama "Hokage-sama." Duh.

And now that Uzumaki Mito was the official diplomat from Uzushiogakure, everybody in Konoha called her "Uzumaki-sama."

Most people in Konoha referred to Uchiha Madara as "Madara-san," because it wasn't like he was important enough to be "sama."

Tobirama got to be "Tobirama-san," which was just fine with him.

There are exceptions to every rule.

Since Hashirama and Mito were on equal footing with each other now, considering that they represented their villages to each other, they called each other "dono."

Since Hashirama and Tobirama were brothers, they just called each other by name.

Inside the Senju clan, Hashirama was "Hashirama-sama," as he had been since becoming the clan leader; but outside of the context of the clan, he was still "Hokage-sama."

Inside the Uchiha clan, everybody called Madara "Madara-sama"; but when speaking to people outside their clan, they simply called him "Madara." It was their way of saying "See? He's with us. He's part of _my_ group. Not yours." An outsider did not have the privilege of speaking of Madara without an honorific.

In polite company, the Senju clan still referred to Madara as "Madara-san"; however, when among close family and friends, sometimes he would just be "Madara" or "the Uchiha leader," the same thing they had called him when he had been an enemy, undeserving of respect.

In polite company, the Uchiha clan called Hashirama "Hokage-sama"; but within their own complex (and especially around Madara), he was simply "Senju." If anybody was confused which Senju they were talking about, they would specify "_that_ Senju." If they were talking about Tobirama, they would call him "Senju's 'brother.'" If they were talking about any other Senju, they would say "another Senju."

Hashirama and Mito were two of the only three people in Konoha to always refer to Madara as "Madara-sama."

The third person was Madara himself.

xxx

A word on curses.

There were several curses that seemed to haunt the Uchiha clan. Every clan had them—those incessant patterns, those inescapable fates, repeating generation after generation. No matter how many years passed, no matter how many people resisted the curses—there were some that, quite simply, never disappeared.

The Uchiha clan had three.

The first curse was vengeance. For any reason, for every reason, the clan had to to avenge itself of its enemies. For those who knew the mythology, they said it was because of the sons of the Sage of the Six Paths; for those who didn't, they simply said the enemy was the Senju clan—and when it was convenient they could find a way to justify _anybody_ being aligned with Senju. But the cause of their crusades for revenge didn't really matter, because they would find whatever cause they could. The clan thrived on little acts of vindictiveness and retribution, and all Uchiha walked around with private scorecards in their heads, tallying up all the scores they had to settle, all the slights they had to repay.

The second curse was fratricide. Brother killing brother, over and over. And father, mother, sister, cousin, friend, lover—both killer and killed. It was inevitable. The clan lived in a homicide-suicide pact with itself, murdering itself to survive.

And the third curse was the eternal rumor, which returned every generation, that any given Uchiha thought long hair was a total turn-on.

xxx

Sometimes Hashirama would have lunch in the Hokage Residence's break room.

"Hokage Residence" was a bit of a misnomer, because while it was true that Hashirama did have a bedroom in the building (and while it was true that Hashirama practically lived in his office), the Hokage Residence was used less for residential purposes and more for governmental purposes. This was where village policy was decided, where diplomatic meetings were held, and where an increasing number of people came to hire ninja for missions.

Konoha had several dozen ninja who considered the Hokage Residence their primary workplace. Some dealt with foreign affairs, some domestic; some simply did whatever the Hokage (or Madara) said; some served as guards and bodyguards. And even more ninja came in and out on a daily basis, busy with their own work.

Because of what it was, the Hokage Residence didn't have a kitchen, didn't have a dining room, and didn't have a living room. However, it did have a break room, which served all three purposes admirably.

So sometimes Hashirama ate there. He'd take the small table in the corner of the room, unobtrusive, in the hopes that maybe anyone who came in after him wouldn't notice he was there and thus wouldn't change their behavior just because their Hokage was listening in. This rarely worked, for two reasons.

First, while the average human being might be able to blissfully walk into a room, flop on a chair in the center of things, and completely overlook the quiet man sitting by himself outside of peripheral viewing range, the average ninja is a much more observant creature and learns from a young age that a life can be swiftly and easily lost by walking into a room without first checking all eight corners. (The average human being doesn't even realize that a typical rectangular room has eight corners.)

Second, Hashirama was in that corner often enough that most of the Hokage Residence's core staff had gotten into the habit of turning to bow to that corner the moment they entered the room, whether or not Hashirama was there.

But on occasion, he'd get lucky. Some younger, less-experienced ninja might come in, ninja who had forgotten to check the corners and who hadn't been told that, surprise surprise, you might run into the Hokage in the Hokage Residence. And Hashirama would get to sit and listen for a bit, to hear them talking about normal things. (Nobody seemed willing to talk about normal things in front of him anymore. Because he was Hokage.) On those lucky occasions, he'd quietly sit by himself, eat his lunch, cheerfully eavesdrop, and then on his way out remind the (now quite surprised) ninja to check the corners when they entered a room, for their own safety.

(The other way he sometimes got lucky was when Madara discovered him in the break room and had lunch with him, at his little table in the corner. Given, that only happened when Madara had a matter to discuss that couldn't wait until lunch was over, but Madara usually brought his own lunch to these impromptu meetings, so they actually _did_ have lunch together. Hashirama rather enjoyed it and wished they could do it more often, and he didn't mind if Madara brought along his work however often he wanted.)

This, it turned out, happened to be one of those lucky days. (Not one of the days when Madara ate with him, one of the other days.)

He was listening as two girls talked, one of them in a high-collared beige jacket and round sunglasses with a deep flat voice, the other in bright blue-and-yellow knee-length dress with a high jagged voice, and the brighter one was jabbering on and on about this _thing_ she'd heard about Madara—

(And so of course Hashirama paid quite close attention, even if the conversation itself was rather ridiculous.)

So she heard this _thing_ about Madara, like, the Hyuuga clan had approached him about a marriage with a branch house girl? Oh no no, they didn't ask the _leader_ of the _Uchiha clan_ to marry a Hyuuga reject, like, they were asking Madara if he'd let another Uchiha boy marry the Hyuuga? Since, like, you've got to ask Madara for permission on like _everything_ when it's about the Uchiha clan, and he said no. Well, actually, she _heard_ it was something like "never in a million years" or something? But that sounds kinda harsh, like, not even Madara would treat the _Hyuuga_ clan like that? Even if he is like so _intense_ when it comes to marriage and stuff. Like, he's intense about _everything_? But he's extra intense about marriage. She heard this thing about this girl from this other clan who approached him? And Madara treated her like... sooo intense. And he like totally turned her down. And he even turned down this princess—

"There haven't been any princesses in Konoha," the girl with the sunglasses said.

The girl in the dress cut off abruptly, staring at her. "Well," she said, "well, like—it could have been before Konoha was founded?"

The girl with sunglasses made a non-commital grunt. "But it's true Madara-san has never shown an interest in marriage, isn't it?"

"That's what I've _heard_," dress girl said. "And he's, like, so good-looking, it's such a _shame_."

Sunglasses girl nodded in agreement. "He would doubtless produce strong children, as well."

"It's a pity!"

(Good, Hashirama wasn't alone in his opinion that Madara was good-looking. Er, that is, he meant, he had been correct in thinking that most people would consider Madara good-looking. He'd finished his lunch long ago, but he was perfectly content to sit and listen to the girls talk about Madara.)

"Perhaps he's one of those shinobi that don't fall in love," sunglasses girl said. (What was that sudden painful twinge Hashirama felt at the suggestion?) "Some men are more in love with battle than they are with women."

"Oh no way. I've heard Madara-san, like, _definitely_ likes women. Hey, do you know what I heard?"

Sunglasses girl had an almost entirely emotionless voice. She still managed to sound disgusted. "Is this another stupid rumor."

"No, I swear this one's true!" Dress girl leaned closer to sunglasses girl and said, triumphantly, "I heard he likes women with _long hair_."

There was a long, long, frigid silence. "Oh, come on."

"No, that's like _totally_ true!"

"What are we, twelve-year-olds?"

"Hey, it's just what I heard, okay?"

And that was when Hashirama told himself to stop listening. This was ridiculous. It was foolish, childish gossip, and he didn't need to hear this, and he was probably embarrassing both himself and Madara by listening. He wasn't going to indulge in this anymore.

Honestly. Madara liked long hair? Of all the silly gossip in the world. Who cared? And it probably wasn't even true.

Really, you had to be a fool to worry about things like that.

xxx

Hashirama liked his hair. Tobirama kept telling him that someday somebody was going to grab him by it and use it against him in battle, but in Hashirama's opinion, a ninja had to be pretty incompetent if he couldn't think of a better combat technique than hair-pulling, and he wasn't worried about incompetent ninja, and besides, Hashirama was primarily a long-distance fighter so it would take quite a bit for a ninja to be able to get him, and in any case, if it ever did happen he could just chop his hair off.

Tobirama said that Hashirama would be more likely to try to chop his attacker's hand off than chop his own hair, and Hashirama told Tobirama to stop being ridiculous, but he had a point.

Hashirama liked his hair.

However, Tobirama was worried enough about somebody using it against him that Hashirama agreed, just to keep his brother off his back, that he wouldn't let it grow any longer than it already was. At Tobirama's insistence, that meant getting about an inch off every other month.

The next month around, he skipped it.

Well, he was just busy. Besides, it wasn't like he'd been in any big battles lately, or anticipated being in one in the near future. And Tobirama didn't get to decide what Hashirama did with himself, and that included his hair. And, really, why do this every other month? It was just going to grow back, after not getting much longer anyway. He'd cut it in another couple of months.

In another couple of months, he didn't cut it.

It was just because it took too much effort and really wasn't worth it.

Really.

There really weren't any other reasons.

_Really_.

After all, why did _he_ care what Madara thought about his hair?

xxx

This was how Hashirama knew any rumors about Madara's tastes were nothing more than rumors: Madara _never_ demonstrated having any tastes.

Madara was the most stoic man Hashirama had ever met.

Well, that was how Hashirama thought of him, at least. Other people would refer to him as cold, or arrogant, or rude, or hostile, or the only worse thing that could happen to a village than a tailed beast attack. (That last one was Tobirama's.) But how well did any of them know Madara?

Hashirama had actually fought him. Battled him, countless times. And he knew: the only way one ninja could truly understand another ninja was through battle. Hashirama had been told, and he firmly believed, that two sufficiently powerful ninja, through combat, could each actually understand what was in his enemy's heart. And in all their countless battles, there was one supremely important thing that Hashirama had figured out about Madara.

The thing he'd figured out about Madara was that he couldn't figure out a thing about Madara.

He had sealed his heart away so well that Hashirama could not, in the very slightest, tell what he'd hidden in it.

Maybe that was part of Hashirama's... obsession, his fascination with Madara. The fact that he was so unknown.

(Or perhaps the obsession had come first, and Hashirama refused to believe that what he saw in Madara's heart was real, because it wasn't the same as the identity for Madara that he had invented in his mind. Or perhaps Hashirama was the one who had blocked off his heart, to prevent Madara from seeing inside, and that kept Hashirama from seeing out as well—how can you look through your neighbor's windows if you've got the curtains drawn over your own?)

So it was obvious enough that Madara was... secretive. Self-contained. He did not share his heart with anyone. But that didn't make him hostile, or arrogant. It just made him a loner. A man who would spend his entire life as the leader of his clan, but not as a part of it. A man to whom everyone looked up, but whom no one stood alongside. A man who considered his followers to be his family, but had no urge to actually find a wife and have a family of his own. (Hashirama was blissfully unaware of the fact that, in his attempt to turn Madara into someone understandable and sympathetic, he was taking many traits that described himself and plugging them on Madara.) A man so wrapped up in his duties that he was left with no urge to think of pleasure. Right? Didn't that describe Madara?

Hashirama thought Madara was completely reserved on all matters. Including matters of romance. After all, he'd never shown the slightest interest in any of the women that came and went through the Hokage Residence on a daily basis. Kunoichi, civilians, diplomats... Unlike nearly every other single male their age (and even some taken males), Madara paid women no more attention than men, only giving their bodies the quick scan he gave everyone to check for weapons. His eyes never lingered, he didn't pay special attention to certain parts of their anatomy... Of course, maybe he didn't have to, perhaps he saw all he needed to see with his Sharingan.

Be that as it may, Hashirama remained firmly convinced that Madara just wasn't interested. He never showed any interest. (And some stupid stupid deluded part of his mind kept going _he shows more interest in me than he does in anyone else, maybe he, maybe he's, maybe I'm not the only one who_—) He thought Madara just didn't care about women. (_And maybe he cared about—_)

As it turned out, he just had very particular tastes.

Hashirama discovered this while taking a rather unscheduled walk with Madara. Hashirama had been returning from lunch (courtesy of the Akimichi clan) when Madara had swooped upon him from out of nowhere, accompanied by a flurry of feathers and papers, and began marching alongside him back toward the Hokage Residence. It took Hashirama a baffled moment to work out that a hawk had arrived at the Hokage Residence with an important message, and Madara had absconded with both message and hawk to inform Hashirama.

But not before he pointed out that it was a good thing _he_ had been in the Hokage's office to receive the news when it arrived; he didn't actually say "unlike _you_, Hokage-sama," but it was there in his eyes. Hashirama praised him duly for being so responsive, thanked him for taking care of the Hokage duties when Hashirama wasn't there, tried to ignore the accusation in Madara's eyes, and asked what the news was.

The news was that the Four-Tailed Monkey had been spotted crossing the border from the Land of Straw into the Land of Fire, northwest by west by north of Konoha (Hashirama was going to have to ask Madara for a definition of that later), and if Hashirama was going to test out that trick he and the Uzumaki clan had developed to seal tailed beasts in little jars, he'd better do it within the next few days, before the Yonbi reached Konoha. (Hashirama asked Madara how he knew about this top-secret newly-developed forbidden sealing jutsu. Madara shrugged as if he couldn't be bothered to recall where he'd picked up such trifling gossip.)

"And where is this information coming from?" Hashirama asked, looking at the note that contained the actual message. No signature.

"An Uchiha outpost in the area."

"You have Uchiha outposts outside of Konoha?"

"Of course. What if something happens to Konoha?" His tone suggested that he assumed something would. "Besides, they've turned out to be useful, haven't they?" He nodded at the note.

Well, so it seemed. "How do you know it's from that outpost, though? There's no signature, no seal..."

Madara gave Hashirama almost a pitying look. "Because this is my hawk, Hokage-sama."

"Oh." Hashirama gave the hawk a closer look. It was perched quite comfortably on Madara's arm. "I didn't know you kept hawks." (Hawks, plural? Or just this one hawk?) Part of him was horrified at the fact that he hadn't known, and part was triumphant at the fact that he now did.

"It's a hobby," Madara said, as though that were all he had to say on the subject. "So, about the Yonbi?"

"I think the sealing technique is ready to try out," Hashirama said, still wondering about Madara's hawks. "But I hadn't been planning on using it without an Uzumaki nearby to help supervise."

"What about Mito-san?" Madara asked.

Hashirama hesitated. "I'm not sure if she'd be up to the task," he said. "I don't think she knows much about how the appropriate seals for this technique work. She's learned the general theory, but..."

(This little comment said more about Hashirama's worldliness than it did about Mito's knowledge. Hashirama lived his entire life with the same mistaken impression as pretty much everyone in the Senju clan—not to mention most of the rest of the world. This impression being that women were not naturally competent at manly things. Now, Hashirama was more enlightened than _most_ men, which in this case meant he believed that it was entirely possible for some women to become just as good as men at many different things. He also happily acknowledged talented women, but talented women always seemed to surprise him. Even when he met one, he wouldn't quite believe it until he saw her in action, and after that assumed that she could only be talented in one way. Mito, for example, was a talented diplomat, but for that reason he didn't expect her to _also_ be talented with seals. If she could talk knowledgeably on the subject, it meant she'd learned "the general theory." He wouldn't know that she was talented in _using_ seals as well until he actually witnessed her doing so. And then he'd be pleasantly surprised all over again. Never mind that whenever he met a man that was talented in one area, he'd assume that man was talented in multiple areas. All of this meant that Hashirama never really expected very much out the women in his life, but at least they were always leaving him pleasantly surprised.)

"Ask Mito-san anyway," Madara said. (Like he was giving the Hokage orders.) "At this rate, the Yonbi's going to get to Konoha long before anyone from Uzushiogakure could arrive. Assuming Mito-san isn't up to the task, do you plan on trying the sealing technique anyway?"

(It was then that a woman started approaching them from the opposite direction. Hashirama never would have noticed her on a normal day; he hadn't thought Madara would have, either.)

"I suppose we don't have choice, do we?"

"Well, if _you_ aren't ready, the only other option is to try to fight it off before it reaches Konoha," Madara said. (As the woman got closer, Madara, who had very slightly turned his gaze to follow her, started rotating his Sharingan.) "To that end, my clan could... summon..." (As she drew level and passed them, Madara paused, turned, slowed for a second, glanced at her from behind; and a moment later faced forward and resumed his pace, Sharingan slowing again.) "Could summon reinforcements, but we would have to start within the next day or so if we're to intercept the Yonbi."

Meanwhile, Hashirama had completely lost track of the topic at hand. Had Madara actually just...? No, he wasn't the kind of guy to... Plus, it had been so subtle, but... What else could he have been...?

"Do you know her?"

Madara gave him a blank look. "'Her'?" (He was wondering whether Hashirama was referring to the Yonbi or the reinforcements, and wondering why he assumed either would be female.) And then comprehension. He smiled, so slightly that only someone who lived to see Madara smile would notice it (Hashirama noticed it), and then looked forward again. "Yes," he said. "Why do you ask, Hokage-sama?"

Oh. What did he say? He could hardly say that he thought Madara had been eyeing her and he wanted him to confirm or deny. "I just, uh, noticed her go by—"

"You were watching her?"

Why was Madara asking the question Hashirama wanted to ask! (A stupid deluded voice went _maybe he's jealous_—no, shut up, Madara wasn't jealous—wait, did that mean Hashirama was jealous? Wait, what?) "I wasn't—well, I mean, I _saw_ her—"

"What do you think?"

Hashirama took so long to answer that Madara gave him an inquisitive glance, as if to say _well...?_ (And all the time his smile slowly grew.) "Uh," he said eloquently. "She... looks nice. Doesn't she?" That was non-committal enough.

(Wait wait WAIT, didn't Madara _already_ think that Hashirama was a man of dreams? Oh great, THIS wouldn't do anything to lessen his suspicions, would it! Oh hell oh _hell—_)

"I see," Madara said. And then his smile grew into a wicked smirk. "She's my half-niece."

Hashirama's thoughts, in order of appearance:

Oh hell, Madara thinks I was eyeballing his half-niece?

Wait. Madara was eyeing his _own_ half-niece?

... What the hell is a half-niece!

(How long was her hair?)

"She's off-limits," Madara informed him, almost gleefully. But then, his smile faltered, and he muttered, "To both of us."

There were all sorts of things wrong with that statement.

By the time they reached the Hokage Residence, Hashirama had agreed to attempt the sealing technique on the Four-Tailed Monkey, had said he would ask Mito about possibly helping out with the seals, had ordered Madara to contact those reinforcements he'd mentioned but to keep them in reserve, and had no recollection of saying any of the things Madara later assured him he had, in fact, said.

xxxxx


	10. Of Family Trees: Year Three

A/N: The day. I had. I don't even. Failing to get this chapter out on time is not even the most faily of my failures today. My apologies. Next Friday shouldn't have this problem.

Arrrrrgh.

This chapter's kinda short, for which I apologize. But it contains an explanation on what a half-niece is. Which is kind of worth the chapter on its own.

Thanks for reading, and do please remember to review. Enjoy!

xxxxx

_Of Family Trees_

xxx

The Uchiha clan had many rules, regulations, and legal documents.

None of which they shared with outsiders.

Hashirama managed to find a way.

"Madara-sama's too paranoid anyway," Uchiha Hiya grumbled, pulling a large scroll out from a passage hidden by a tatami mat and setting it beside a folded chart. "It's like he thinks somebody wants to massacre the clan or something."

Hashirama said he was sure Madara thought nothing of the sort. Hiya just sighed.

The first thing Hashirama looked at was a genealogy chart of the entire Uchiha clan—which was so immense it took up half the room when unfolded, and looked like a multicolored connect-the-dots mixed with a maze mixed with a spider web. Hiya informed him (with no small amount of clan pride) that it was practically impossible to read it without the Sharingan. Hashirama tried anyway. After several futile minutes of staring at the chart (Hashirama couldn't even _find_ Madara's name), Hiya sighed, relented, and informed him that they had special glasses with colored lenses that could be used to sort out the lines. The glasses were reserved for children and elders who couldn't use the Sharingan, and also, they looked really stupid.

They _did_ look really stupid. Hashirama quietly ignored the fact that Hiya snickered and activated his Sharingan to memorize the sight the moment Hashirama put on his glasses. He took another look at the chart.

There were a half dozen different pairs of glasses, each with different lens colors to highlight different aspects of the chart (who the hell had designed this thing?), and he went through four pairs before he managed to locate Madara. Which was actually kind of stupid, since the names and birthdates themselves were perfectly easy to see; it was just the lines between them that made no sense.

He was shocked and a little embarrassed to discover Madara was seven years younger than him. (Though why should he be embarrassed? It wasn't as though he'd had any inappropriate thoughts about Madara, right?)

He had to switch back to one of the earlier pairs of glasses in order to find the lines stringing out from Madara's name. Two snaking up to Madara's parents, another pair of lines snaking from the parents to another man, younger than Madara, and marked as "deceased": Izuna. So that _was_ Madara's brother's name. Glad to have that confirmed.

(Between Izuna and Madara, there was a tangle of lines; an arrow from Izuna to Madara, an X over Izuna, an O over Madara, a dotted line from Izuna to someone else, a solid line from Madara to that same person with an X in the middle of it and another dotted line branching out of the X and pointing at the first arrow between Madara and Izuna... Very hard to miss. Hashirama wondered what the story here was.)

And then a third line from Madara's father, running parallel to a line from another woman, leading to a woman about sixteen years older than Madara: a half-sister, apparently. And a line snaking from her, running parallel to a line from another man, to a woman who was two years younger than Madara. So that's what a half-niece was. Hashirama wondered what she looked like. He wished he'd paid attention when she'd passed him. (He didn't even remember how long her hair was.)

Besides the genealogy charts, Hashirama looked into the Uchiha marriage laws; that was the scroll Hiya had pulled up for him out of some hidden chamber. For such a big scroll, it had very tiny print. Not a problem for anyone with the Sharingan, Hashirama was sure.

It took quite a while for Hashirama to track down the rules on who could marry whom and why. (In the meantime, however, he learned that in the Uchiha clan, the official mourning period for a loved one was five hundred days; all members of the clan had to have a clan sigil at least the width of their palm displayed on their person above waist height at all times; and it was illegal to be seen outdoors with a folding fan or a pinwheel on Tuesdays, the fourth of the month, or any time in April.)

The Uchiha marriage rules resembled advanced mathematics more than anything else: percentages based on ancestors and blood and how far you had to go back until all your ancestors were the same, and if the percentage was over 46 percent (where had _that_ number come from?) you couldn't marry. (There was no answer to the question of how marriages outside the clan worked; Hashirama was beginning to suspect the answer was "they don't.")

Siblings with the same parents were 100 percent related, since each got 50 percent of their blood from their father and 50 percent from their mother; half-siblings were at least 50 percent related, and a parent and child were at least 50 percent related. Aunts/uncles and nieces/nephews were 40 percent related, and no matter how many times Hashirama did the math in his head he couldn't figure out where they'd gotten that statistic, from the other math he thought it'd be 50 percent related. And did that mean nieces and nephews could marry their uncles and aunts?

And to make everything _more_ worrisome, any Uchiha whose exact relation to another Uchiha was unknown would be given the same percentage as a cousin—which was 10 percent, inexplicably. (So _cousins_ could marry?) But at least that was accompanied by a ban on marriage unless they were reasonably certain the percentages would be low enough. Then again, Hashirama was beginning to wonder what "reasonably certain" meant to an Uchiha.

He finally gave up on trying to figure the rules out and asked Hiya how closely related a person would be to a half-niece. (If half-siblings were half as related as full siblings, then half-nieces/nephews should be half as related as full nieces/nephews. Since full nieces/nephews were 40 percent related, Hashirama _thought_ half-nieces/nephews should be 20 percent. Right?) He was informed it was 15 percent, assuming no other common ancestry.

Hashirama was beginning to get the feeling that the Uchiha clan was fudging with their numbers to make it easier to marry their relatives.

He asked if that meant, then, that Madara and his half-niece were 15 percent related? Hiya seemed surprised by the question, but didn't say anything. He consulted the chart, Sharingan spinning, and informed Hashirama that, no, they weren't 15 percent related. They were 54 percent related.

Whatever the expression was that crossed Hashirama's face, Hiya found it very amusing.

"It's not _that_ strange," Hiya said. "Madara-sama and Izuna-san were 221 percent related."

"How is that...?"

Hiya slowly shook his head. Hashirama decided he didn't want to know.

Hashirama was beginning to figure out why the Uchiha clan had to keep fudging with their numbers to let them marry relatives. Because if they didn't fudge with the numbers, they wouldn't be able to marry at all. They were _all_ relatives.

"Why do you have such elaborate rules?" he asked, as Hiya was putting away the scroll and genealogy chart.

"To prevent incest."

It was only with great difficulty that Hashirama managed to stop himself from laughing in disbelief.

Hiya gave him a withering glare. (With his Sharingan on, it was a glare that made Hiya's relation to Madara very clear; how closely _were_ they related, Hashirama wondered?) "Perhaps it doesn't make sense to someone from a clan where 'family' members aren't even related," he said, "but it's kept the Uchiha clan healthy and powerful for generations. In over a hundred years, less than five Uchiha have made it to adulthood without developing the Sharingan. In that same time, how many Senju have had your kekkei genkai, Hokage-sama?"

Less than five.

Be that as it may, Hashirama still couldn't quite look at the Uchiha clan in the same way after that.

Hiya reminded him multiple times that he'd never seen this stuff, he didn't have this information, he didn't know a thing about the scrolls or the chart or the hidden chamber, much less about anything he'd learned from them, and if someone _did_ find out that Hashirama had seen this stuff, then for the Sage's sake he didn't hear it from Hiya. Hashirama swore that he would take these secrets to his grave. (And he did. The existence of any of the places or items Hashirama had seen was kept completely concealed from the rest of the village, until Itachi informed Danzou about them a few weeks before he massacred the Uchiha clan.)

Hashirama tried to convince himself that Hiya was just too paranoid about getting caught.

He tried to convince himself that he hadn't just knowingly abused his authority, broken into the Uchiha complex, and stolen their clan secrets. All to find out more about a woman and some regulations he didn't even care about, just because Madara had made _one little comment_ in passing. (_"She's my half-niece. She's off-limits. To both of us."_ That was all Madara had said. Why did Hashirama even _care_, Madara had _said_ she was off-limits to him.)

"Stalking" was not, and is still not, a familiar concept in the Land of Fire.

But even though he didn't know what he was doing, Hashirama still had the decency to feel ashamed of himself.

xxx

It was during that trip that Hashirama finally heard the story about Madara's deceased brother Izuna. He had asked Hiya why he disapproved so much of his clan leader. Hiya had told him.

There was a reason for the odd tangle between Madara and Izuna on the genealogy chart. And for their very high relationship percentage.

They had only been 121 percent related.

Until Madara had taken Izuna's eyes.

Although it wasn't referred to as such, that was the first time Hashirama heard of the Uchiha curse of fratricide.

That. That was the brother Madara loved so much? That was the brother for whom he had mourned so long? He had stolen his eyes? He had doomed him to death?

The next time he met with Mito, some formal meal, and she asked him quietly, eyes shining, what was the latest news, what could he tell her about Madara...?

He told her.

She stared at Hashirama, mouth open, horrified. "That's... that..." She slowly leaned back, slowly squinted her eyes, slowly frowned in concentration, like she was struggling to find an answer that just wasn't there. "That poor man, right...?"

"Yeah." Hashirama nodded in agreement.

"To have to do something like that to his own little brother..."

Hashirama nodded again.

No, of course they weren't horrified at what Madara had done. Yes, of course they pitied him more than Izuna. Everything Madara did was justified, he had his reasons, they understood, they understood.

Poor thing.

It took Hashirama a while to figure out what all this meant.

Madara's eyes, his beautiful, beautiful eyes?

They weren't Madara's eyes. They were Izuna's, Izuna's eyes.

And yet they were so much a part of him...

They held his fire, they held his soul. He _spoke_ with them, he _fought_ with them. Hashirama could see Madara's entire life in his eyes.

Maybe they had not been his originally—but they were now. That was how Hashirama saw it, and how he would always see it.

Nothing would ever change the way he saw Madara.

xxx

The Uchiha clan baffled Hashirama. They had elaborate laws that allowed them to get away with marrying exclusively within their own clan, for the purposes of "preventing incest." Uchiha clan rituals involved stealing one's sibling's eyes. And Madara may or may not have had a thing for long hair.

So the clan baffled him.

That was fine; apparently, he baffled them right back.

He found this out when Uchiha Byakko came to him with a message from Madara, who was doing _something_ out in the western realms of the Land of Fire, some mission which he hadn't told Hashirama a thing about but which Hashirama was happy to assume was very important. Madara's message had gone straight to the Uchiha clan (perhaps one of his hawks had carried it), and so Byakko had taken it to the Hokage Residence.

Byakko often served as the messenger from the Uchiha clan to the Hokage Residence (when Madara didn't operate in that capacity), and sometimes from the Hokage residence to the Hyuuga clan (because the Hyuuga elders respected him as a fellow elder and as a sometimes-ally-sometimes-enemy from previous decades). If the Hyuuga clan _had_ asked Madara if one of their members could marry an Uchiha, they had probably sent the message through Byakko. Hashirama wondered if he should ask whether or not the rumor was true, but figured it probably wouldn't be appropriate and would just make him look silly if it wasn't (and it probably wasn't, he'd heard it from some teen kunoichi).

He shouldn't have worried. When it came to silly questions about silly rumors, Byakko's next one easily beat out any of Hashirama's. (Except for the "does he like long hair" one, that one took the cake.)

"If you'll excuse me, Hokage-sama," Byakko said after delivering Madara's message, "I have a question that I've been puzzling over a while, and I was wondering if you might not be willing to answer it...?"

As eager as he was to read whatever it was that Madara could have possibly sent him, he set aside the rolled paper and gave Byakko his full attention. "I'll do my best to answer, Byakko-san."

"Is it true that you and Tobirama-san aren't related?"

Hashirama stared at Byakko. What in the world. "Why do you say that?"

"That's just what it looks like, Hokage-sama," Byakko said quickly. "I would never have brought it up except... you _don't_ look much alike. It's grown into something of a debate, in my clan—whether or not the Senju clan is an actual family, or more of a... loose coalition of unrelated ninja, more or less."

"Of course we're a family," Hashirama said, then remembered what that probably meant in Uchiha terms and quickly amended, "I mean, when we marry, someone will marry in from _outside_ the clan, and the new spouse joins Senju, but... we're still related."

Byakko nodded slowly, as if the concept of being related to _anyone_ in a clan that didn't exclusively marry with itself baffled him.

Hashirama decided to make it easier for him. "Tobirama and I are fully related, same mother and father," he said, and before he thought it out, added, "One hundred percent." That was a concept an Uchiha would understand. That was also a concept that Hashirama shouldn't have known about, he remembered after the fact. Maybe Byakko would think he'd just been using an idiom and hadn't been explicitly referring to the Uchiha clan rules.

"I see..." Byakko still looked puzzled. "You don't look like you're related. If you'll forgive my saying so."

Well, they weren't 221 percent related, but Hashirama thought they looked related enough. Even if they had completely different hair and eye colors. And skin colors. And facial structures... "Sometimes these things happen," he said, shrugging.

The look Byakko gave him quite clearly said _no, they don't_. But he bowed graciously and said, "Thank you for your time, Hokage-sama. I apologize for such a bold question."

"Not at all."

And Byakko hurried off to do whatever it was he was supposed to do (report this news to the Uchiha clan, maybe), and Hashirama suddenly wondered—did that mean Madara thought Hashirama and Tobirama weren't related? That stung.

But... Oh well.

It wasn't the worst thing Madara had ever thought about him.

Somehow, Hashirama didn't think he'd convinced Byakko that he and Tobirama were really related. But Hiya hadn't convinced Hashirama that the Uchiha clan's marriage rules were in place to prevent incest, so fair was fair.

xxxxx


	11. Marriage and Successors: Year Four

A/N: Jesajew, the chronic anonymousness of your reviews is drivin' me insane because I keep wanting to respond to you! So you get a shout-out, because you used a trope in your last review and there is no end to my glee. Yes indeed, there's a definite Draco In Leather Pants situation. (Well, albeit from an in-universe perspective rather than an audience perspective.) I'm playing with, averting, subverting, and deconstructing as many slashfic conventions as I can get my hands on here. And it's glorious fun. (For those of you who made no sense of the previous paragraph: may I again recommend checking out a certain wonderful site called TVTropes? It will ruin your life. But in a good way.)

For the normal people who don't pay insane amount of attention to every tiny comment in the manga: Sarutobi Sasuke is indeed an actual character, albeit one who's only referenced. He's the father of Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage.

Hope you enjoy the chapter, and please remember to review!

xxxxx

_Marriage and Successors_

xxx

**Year Four**

The Year Konoha's Honeymoon Period Ended

xxx

Somewhere in all of that, they did manage to capture the Four-Tailed Monkey.

Mito did, in fact, know all the appropriate seals to make the technique work. She was actually one of the most talented seal-users in the Uzumaki clan, and had assisted in developing the seal they used on the Yonbi. She was very helpful. Hashirama was pleasantly surprised.

During the course of the mission, Tobirama heard somebody mention a "jumping monkey," got all confused and thought that was one of the Four-Tailed Monkey's nicknames, discovered it was actually some guy's family name (since that was what "Sarutobi" meant), and—against Hashirama's advice—he made a point of tracking down Sarutobi Sasuke in order to insult his name. In return, Sasuke demanded to know where "Senju" got its name and asked Tobirama where he was hiding his other 998 hands. Tobirama said he kept them in little jars in his kitchen cabinet, behind the sake. Sasuke said that was the same place he kept his jumping monkeys. Tobirama and Sasuke were best friends by the time they made it back to Konoha and Hashirama would never again succeed in sending one on a mission without the other finding some way to tag along.

Konoha celebrated the capture of the Yonbi for several days.

(Hashirama attended as few celebrations as he had to, skipped as many as he could, and drank nothing at any of them. Most of the time, while the rest of the village was celebrating, he was back in the Hokage Residence hard at work. Most of the time, Madara was there with him. It was nice.)

Mito was sent back to Uzushio with a letter, informing the village of Konoha's success, praising their seal, and asking if they might send somebody to help reinforce it, just to double-check Mito's work. They sent back a message saying that they were currently busy dealing with local conflicts (something something angry Kaguya in boats), but as soon as they could spare a ninja, they would send someone to Konoha.

Madara had promised that the Uchiha clan could provide "reinforcements" for the battle against the Yonbi; however, they were never needed, so Hashirama never met them. So he never had to find out that the Uchiha clan's idea of a "reinforcement" looked like something out of his nightmares and had more than twice as many tails as the Yonbi.

That was all sometime in the past year.

Extremely ridiculously late, the daimyo of the Land of Fire finally sent a letter of congratulations to Konohagakure no Sato in general and to Shodai Hokage Senju Hashirama-dono in particular. (_Shodai_ Hokage? _Founding_ Fire Shadow? That was the first time Hashirama had been referred to as such, although he appreciated the suggestion that Konoha would last long enough for more people to eventually wear the title Hokage. Well, unless Madara actually did change the title.)

The daimyo went on to enthuse about how much Konohagakure no Sato was doing for his fine nation, and that he had recently learned from several other daimyo that they were coming to similar arrangements with many of the clans in their nations, forming other "hidden villages," and he was pleased that his own nation was on the cutting-edge. The fact that Konohagakure no Sato had the power not only to divert the path of a tailed beast, but also to neutralize its threat forever, proved what a wonderful force it was, and the daimyo hoped that it would continue to prove its worth far into the future.

But for that reason, the daimyo felt they needed to start planning now to ensure that the village _would_ still exist in the future. After all, the life of any political leader was a very uncertain one, threatened as it was by rivals and assassins—and the same could be said for any shinobi. Especially a shinobi who made it his personal business to confront tailed beasts head-on.

In short, he wanted Hashirama to name a successor. A Nidaime Hokage.

Already?

(Yes, of course already; the daimyo wanted a successor because a daimyo knows from personal experience that if you're in charge, then _somewhere, somebody_ has a blade with your name on it. He could only assume that went double for ninja. Even if Hashirama planned on reigning for the next hundred years, he would be an idiot to not indicate who he wanted to lead Konoha after him, because if he died suddenly and violently _without_ having a named successor—a definite possibility for a ninja—then there would be a bloody free-for-all of a fight over who got the title next. It was just good politics. True, Konoha didn't _need_ a successor right now. However, by the time a successor was needed, it would be too late for Hashirama to name one, because he'd probably have a kunai jammed in his jugular.)

Already.

(Over Hashirama's shoulder, Madara was reading along—probably reading much faster, too—and when Hashirama reached the words _Nidaime Hokage_, he instinctively glanced up at Madara. Neither of them said a thing, neither of their expressions changed, but the look in Madara's eyes was pleased.)

The letter went on: if obtaining a successor meant finding Hashirama a suitable wife to bear one, the daimyo would be more than willing to arrange a marriage that would be satisfactory to him and also be politically beneficial to the Land of Fire.

Hashirama quickly wrote him back to thank him for his praise and his offer, but he had been planning to select his successor the ninja way: not by fathering one, but by choosing a ninja whom he knew and who had demonstrated the strength and competence necessary for the position.

"'The ninja way'?" Madara repeated. "Most ninja clans choose their successors from among the previous clan leader's descendants."

"Well, only the strong and competent descendants, right?"

Madara grinned. Hashirama's day was officially a success.

"Actually," Hashirama said, "I'm mainly trying to keep him off my back. If I just tell him I want to choose a successor my own way, I'd run the risk of offending him, or making him think that I'm opposed to the, er, daimyo way of naming successors." Which was choosing from among their children.

"Are you opposed?"

Hashirama paused. "Well, I don't want him to _think_ I am."

Madara chuckled. Hashirama's week was officially a success.

"So, if you tell him it's a ninja tradition, he can't conclude that you're snubbing his help or his practices?" Madara said. "Very nice, Hokage-sama. You might be a politician after all."

Madara didn't ask whom Hashirama was planning on naming as his successor. Hashirama didn't bring it up.

After all, Hashirama had just gotten the orders to find a successor. It was far too early for him to have any ideas.

(After all, it would be indecorous on Madara's part to seem overly eager to have his suspicion confirmed, and it would be indecorous on Hashirama's part to seem overly certain so soon. But they didn't need to say anything. Even if it took Hashirama a few weeks, a few months to announce the decision—purely for the sake of appearances—hadn't it already been made?)

(In fact, it would take Hashirama a year to choose a successor. Had events proceeded as they had _been_ proceeding since before Konoha had even existed, the decision would have been easy and the successor would have been named with no conflicts at all, and nobody would have been surprised at the choice. It was practically a given that Hashirama was going to name Madara as his successor. Even the people who didn't like him knew that he was the obvious choice.)

(But then things changed.)

xxx

After that letter arrived, for the next few days, Madara was nicer to Hashirama than he had ever been before. It was almost as though he actually _liked_ him. Hashirama was almost dizzy with happiness.

Of _course_ it was because of the letter. But it wasn't because Madara being a sycophant in hopes of being chosen as the Nidaime Hokage. (Madara was incapable of sycophancy.) His friendliness (if it could be called that; Hashirama called it that) was just his way of saying "thank you" ahead of time for the leadership position he _knew_ he was going to receive. Being selected to lead a village like this was quite a mark of honor, trust, and respect, and Madara certainly appreciated it, even if he hadn't received it yet.

It was also during this time that Madara admitted out loud, for the very first time, that he respected Senju Hashirama.

In fact, he respected him more than he did any other shinobi in the world.

Madara actually _said_ that. Ungrudgingly, unembarrassed, unprompted. Of course, he hadn't said it to Hashirama. Or to any other Senju. And he didn't admit it in front of any Uchiha, either. But he did say it to someone.

And Kagayaki Koori had overheard him. (Koori was one of those men who was always there but rarely noticed, an ideal follower but little else, and the only reason _he_ couldn't be called a sycophant was because he wasn't enthusiastic enough. He had also designed the leaf symbol that now represented Konoha but nobody seemed to remember that.) Being the loyal assistant-bordering-on-secretary that he was, he reported what Madara had said back to Hashirama.

It was a good thing that Koori was such a loyal assistant, because he would never mention to anybody the overjoyed, dazed grin that stretched across Hashirama's face as his brain shut down from sheer ecstasy.

The next time Hashirama passed Madara in the street, Madara gave him a thin (smug?) smile. Hashirama didn't even _say_ anything, and Madara smiled.

Hashirama loved that smile.

xxx

While Mito was back in Uzushiogakure, Hashirama received an inquiry from the Uzumaki clan, delivered by the ninja who'd been sent to help fortify the Yonbi's seals. It was in Mito's handwriting and addressed to Madara, asking about the Uchiha clan's practices of arranged marriage—for purposes of political alliance, of course. Hashirama's heart sank as he read the letter (although he could not say why) and he felt what might have been resentment toward Mito (although he couldn't explain that one, either); but he dutifully passed the letter on to Madara.

Thinking, all the while: she just wants the political prestige, she wants the honor of being able to say she's married to the Nidaime Hokage. She doesn't actually _care_ about Madara, she doesn't _care_—

(After all, a woman as high-ranked as Mito was always at risk of being seen as _weak_, as _emotional_, as _feminine_. So of course she only wanted to marry for purposes of political alliance, or at least she would pretend that was the case. She couldn't allow herself to be accused of marrying for any other reason.)

A few days later, Madara presented a letter to Hashirama, to send to the Uzumaki clan. It was barely on the polite side of a written sneer. The Uchiha clan did not _do_ marriages outside the Uchiha clan, arranged or otherwise, for whatever reason, under any circumstances, forever and ever, the end, period. Hashirama felt relieved (although he could not have said why).

(Of course, both of these letters were presented to Hashirama sealed, with requests to pass them on that way. But he was Hokage, it was within his authority to check the contents of letters that came across his desk, right? He only ever seemed to exercise that authority when Madara's name was somewhere on the outside of the letter, but...)

The Uzumaki clan did not reply for a month. And Mito didn't come back during that time.

The next time they sent a letter, it was from the clan leader and Uzukage; he was offering Mito in marriage to the Hokage Senju Hashirama, to formalize the alliance between Konoha and Uzushio. Hashirama was baffled.

But... Hadn't Hashirama himself thought that they got along well? That they thought the same, felt the same, had similar interests?

So why was he so surprised?

(Perhaps it was because they only really had one interest in common, and it wasn't so much one they shared as one that was wedged between them. Perhaps it was because on some level Hashirama knew who Mito was really interested in marrying; and on that same level, Hashirama acknowledge it was the same person _he_ was interested in.)

He couldn't think of a reason not to. They got along. They came from allied clans. They had compatible philosophies. He couldn't think of a reason not to say yes.

Why was he _trying_ to think of a reason not to say yes?

He did not make the same mental accusations of her now that he had before. He never thought that she only wanted the honor of being married to the Shodai Hokage. He never stopped to think about whether or not she cared about him. Because in a political marriage like this, love didn't matter. You _knew_ you were marrying for the honor. Honor was _why_ you married. He knew that for a fact, and he did not begrudge her for it. It was intelligent politics.

He never stopped to wonder why that same knowledge had bothered him so much when she'd been inquiring after Madara, but not when she was proposing marriage to Hashirama himself.

He sent a letter to the Uzumaki clan accepting the offer and agreeing to the engagement. He tried to convince himself that he wasn't, for some reason, disappointed. It was a good match, wasn't it?

He convinced himself that the downhearted feeling he'd had when reading Mito's letter to the Uchiha clan had been disappointment over losing an opportunity for a favorable Senju/Uzumaki marriage. He convinced himself that he had not felt resentment for Mito. He convinced himself that he was pleased.

It was a favorable match, for both their clans and both their villages.

And they had so much in common.

xxx

"I've heard that your daimyo is really pressuring you about the selection process for your successor, Hokage-dono?" Mito said.

He tried not to sigh. "You had to remind me." But he didn't really mean it. The decision had already been made, there was never any question.

She smiled. "I'm sure you'll choose the best man for the job."

"I hope so." He only said that to be humble, so as not to sound like he was boasting about his own wisdom as Hokage. It certainly wasn't because he doubted the qualifications of his soon-to-be successor. He would have no problem boasting about his successor's abilities.

They were having lunch—and doing much more talking than eating, but there _were_ plates of food in front of them, so technically they _were_ having lunch. This was the first time Hashirama and Mito had seen each other since getting engaged via mail.

This was not a social lunch. Hashirama was still "Hokage-dono," Mito was still "Uzumaki-dono." They may as well have not been engaged, for all they acted the part. This was a diplomatic lunch, between the leader of one village and the representative of another. Not a lunch between a future husband and wife.

Their engagement did nothing to change their attitudes toward each other, nor the way they spoke to each other.

Nor what they spoke about.

"I can barely think of any candidates for the role of Nidaime Hokage," Hashirama said. "Not that Konoha doesn't have many good ninja, but actually being _Hokage_ is... nothing like normal ninja duties."

Mito shrugged. "Well, how many candidates do you need?" she asked. "All that's really necessary is one good man, right?"

"I suppose so." Hashirama smiled sheepishly. "Well, to be honest—I can only think of one man at all."

"Oh, really?" Mito smiled. "I hope he's a good one."

There was a pause, for a moment—they were still having lunch, after all, they _did_ need to eat. But once they'd had a moment, Mito added, "I'm sure he will be."

Of course she was sure. She knew exactly who Hashirama was talking about.

Hashirama supposed he could have just outright told Mito. It wouldn't have hurt anything. He trusted that whatever he said to Mito would go no farther than her, and she presumably trusted him the same way. They got along very well, really. They had pleasant enough conversations, they thought in similar ways... She was a perfectly charming woman.

He supposed it was a good thing that they were getting married, then, wasn't it? (For a moment, he thought _wait, we're getting married? Oh, right_.) Well, they did get along well enough. Which was important for a marriage. Plus, they were both very highly ranked in very highly regarded clans, and what's more, they were each the symbols of their respective villages—a marriage between them would serve to solidify the alliance between their clans, their villages, and their nations.

That was more something the Land of Fire's daimyo would be pleased about. And he certainly was pleased. (He had kept pressing Hashirama to find a suitable marriage partner, even when he'd said he didn't plan on producing an heir that way. This quite neatly got him off Hashirama's back—at least, on the subject of marriage. Now the daimyo was just bothering him about that successor.) And they were about the same age, and they were both powerful ninja, and they had about the same philosophy: that peace and cooperation were more important than anything else, that everything had to be done to protect future generations, and that only love—not strength—could save the world from war. That was enough for Hashirama.

He didn't ask himself if he loved her, because in a political marriage like this, love was not important. Besides, if he _had_ asked, the answer would have been "no," and that would have messed everything up.

"How has he been doing lately, anyway?" Mito kept her eyes down as she asked. If any pain remained in them, some shadow of disappointment from Madara's rejection—she didn't show it.

"He's been in a very good mood lately," Hashirama said. He wondered if Mito would care to hear that Madara had said he respected Hashirama, and then decided she probably wouldn't. "Madara-sama's been... smiling a lot more, lately."

"Has he?" Mito smiled, a bit wistfully. "I'm glad. He's had such a hard life..." She glanced up at Hashirama, and something devious shined in her eyes. Her voice was gently sarcastic. "I wonder _what's_ got Madara-sama so happy, right?"

Hashirama laughed. "Good question." His response was only just barely an evasion of the question and not a very good one at that, but it didn't really matter.

He never realized that the conversation had jumped straight from his unnamed Nidaime Hokage candidate to "How has he been doing, anyway?" to Madara. They both understood perfectly.

They were just a lot alike.

xxxxx


	12. Last Peaceful Day: Year Four

A/N: I missed a week entirely. Oh, but what a week it was. Only through the most laborious of toils and the most courageous of battles did I even survive it. In short, I was murderously busy. (And even with chapter 11 up for two weeks, it still didn't get as many reviews as usual, hmm. My hypothesis: it was my mistake to recommend people check out TVTropes. They did, and then they never returned.)

Enjoy the chapter! (Because the next chapter ain't gonna be so sunshiny.) And please remember to review and let me know what you think.

xxxxx

_Last Peaceful Day_

xxx

Proof of what a good mood Madara was in: he actually suggested that Hashirama take a day off. Madara would take over the Hokage's duties.

This wasn't because Madara was so cheerful he felt like being charitable. He enjoyed being in control. The only reason he didn't try to get control of Konoha more often was because it would look like he was trying to usurp Hashirama's authority. He was just so cheerful that he didn't care what people thought about him now.

But Hashirama cared about Madara's public image. So he agreed to take a day off, but only on the condition that Madara would get a day off later, because Hashirama didn't want to overwork him. (And Hashirama would act like he'd gotten the idea to take a day off, and that he had asked Madara to fill in for him. That way, if the people were going to speak ill of anyone, it would be Hashirama, and he was fine with that. So was Madara.)

Taking a day off didn't mean, by any stretch of the imagination, that Hashirama stopped working. He voluntarily took a mountain of paperwork home with him. Most of it was the daily pile of inner-village reports, but a fair portion consisted of letters from other nations and villages that _still_ had something to say about Konoha's capture of the Yonbi. (Letters had been coming in for weeks and weeks.) Only Hashirama could reply to those letters. Madara was more than happy to let him handle the paperwork.

So they parted on happy terms: Madara, gleeful at the prospect of running Konoha alone for the day (and at the prospect of doing so much more regularly in the near future); and Hashirama, gleeful at Madara's glee.

xxx

Tobirama had not been alerted to Hashirama's plans to hand Konoha over to the dread Uchiha Madara. This was by design. If Tobirama had known, he would have gone insane doing everything he could think of to try to talk Hashirama out of it. For some reason, he _still_ didn't trust Madara. For some strange, strange reason. Hashirama couldn't think of a thing Madara had done in the past... oh, what was it now, over two years since the founding of the village, over three years since the initial Senju/Uchiha truce? Madara hadn't done anything in the past three years that was at all untrustworthy, had he?

But Tobirama still didn't trust him, and Hashirama hadn't wanted to deal with his griping and his worries and so on and so forth. (On some level, he was afraid of his brother's accusations.) So he just... hadn't brought it up, and when it actually happened, Tobirama was gone on a mission. He'd been gone for several days now in the Land of Straw, to assist a team in repairs at the site where they had battled the Yonbi. Clean-up had been ongoing since the battle itself, months ago though it was. (Of course, Sarutobi Sasuke was there, too. He and Tobirama had probably spent more time cracking jokes than cleaning up.)

Today, he was supposed to come back. Since Hashirama had the day off, he decided to wait at Konoha's gates to greet Tobirama when he arrived. And break the news to him.

And, most importantly, head him off before he could burst into the Hokage's office, discover Madara at the desk instead of his brother, and conclude that Hashirama had been assassinated.

Tobirama was pleasantly surprised to find that Hashirama was waiting to greet him, and slightly embarrassed. (He'd been hauled into the village half-bent, red-faced, held in an chokehold by Sasuke. Sasuke quickly let go and they straightened up.) He was unpleasantly surprised when Hashirama explained why he wasn't currently working.

"But you can't—" Between Hashirama's warning glare, and the attentive interest of eleven other ninja who would probably be absolutely fascinated to hear whatever the Hokage's younger brother was about to say about the Hokage's second-in-command, Tobirama changed his mind. "Right. Uh. Is he... already running the village, then? For today?"

"He has been since before you even woke up," Hashirama said. Based on the dark rings under Tobirama's and Sasuke's eyes, they'd had a late night, so they'd probably woken up late. Based on the relatively energetic states of their other teammates, they were the only ones.

Sasuke jabbed an elbow in Tobirama's ribs. "How about that?" he murmured. "Madara-san's been in charge for almost a day and a half." (So Tobirama hadn't even been to sleep?)

Tobirama jabbed him right back. "_Not in front of—_" He cleared his throat. "Uh... So."

"So." Hashirama would have to hear _this_ story later.

"So, who's supervising Madara? ... San," Tobirama asked.

"Tobirama, he's acting as _Hokage_ today," Hashirama said. "Who usually supervises _me_?"

"Madara-san does," Tobirama muttered disapprovingly.

It wasn't the answer Hashirama was looking for, but he'd go with that. "And Madara-sama is perfectly capable of supervising himself as well."

Tobirama didn't seem to like that. But before he could say anything, Sasuke poked him again and said, "Hey. Have you ever heard any of those stories about demons that appear if you say their name?"

"No?" Tobirama said, giving him a puzzled look.

Sasuke gestured behind Hashirama. "Well, they're true."

"I heard that."

Hashirama and Tobirama both jumped, and Hashirama turned to look. Madara was leaning against a building in the shadows, just almost out of view. Where in the world had he—had Sasuke just called him a _demon?_

"Just making conversation, Madara-san," Sasuke said innocently.

"Better a demon than an ape," Madara retorted (and yet so lightly, so flippantly), walking up to the group, and then promptly turning his attention to Hashirama and ignoring everyone else. (Hashirama thought nothing at all about Madara's comment; Sasuke had insulted him first, the retort was self-defense.) Before Hashirama could even ask what he wanted, he practically shoved a scroll into his hands. "The Nara clan has apparently decided they're too lazy to turn their patch of forest into an actual complex. They want your permission to leave it as a 'wildlife preserve' so they don't have to develop the land, and I can't sign off on it—"

He stopped suddenly, and then glanced (rather pointedly) between Hashirama and Tobirama. Hashirama realized this was the first time Madara and Tobirama had really seen each other since... he couldn't remember how long. The last time he could remember for sure had been at the meeting when Konoha had been formally named, and that had been two years ago. (They'd both gone on the mission to seal the Yonbi, but Hashirama had suggested Tobirama try to avoid Madara, and he had been more than glad to comply.) Hashirama hoped Madara didn't say anything inappropriate. He really, _really_ hoped Tobirama didn't say anything inappropriate.

Tobirama did. "So where are your fancy robes, oh Hokage-san?" he asked. Madara was wearing his usual outfit.

"Red isn't my color," Madara said simply, as if that made any sense in the slightest. Hashirama was worried that Madara would add a harsher retort—he couldn't even imagine what he'd come up with. But, all he did was glance again between Tobirama and Hashirama, snort, and mutter to himself, "Somebody forgot to tell somebody they adopted him." (And there was that tiniest of smirks, that smallest of sparks in his eyes, enough to indicate that he was just joking and didn't mean anything by it—but of course nobody but Hashirama knew him well enough to pick up on that.) Madara raised his voice again. "I'll leave their request with you," he gestured at the scroll with the Nara clan seal, "and let you get back to your, ah... 'family' reunion." Without even waiting for a reply, in two leaps he was atop the nearest building, and running along the rooftops back to the Hokage Residence.

"Didn't even say hi," Tobirama grumbled, then looked at Hashirama. "What was he talking about with the adoption?"

Uh. What did he say? The last thing he wanted was for Tobirama to think (even more) badly of Madara, so... "Nothing," he said, looking at the scroll rather than his brother. "He was just talking about... nothing." That was smooth.

Behind Tobirama, Sasuke snorted. "Same thing Madara-san's always talking about," he said, and Tobirama laughed.

It took a long time after that for Hashirama to start liking Sasuke.

xxx

"Hey, Hashirama."

"Mm. Yeah?" Hashirama was trying to read a report, from a team that had been hired to escort and guard a shipment of silver in a neighboring nation. Who was this team, anyway? "What?" Tobirama was bothering him. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to take him up on his offer of lunch. (Then again, Hashirama expected that if he hadn't agreed, Tobirama would have found an excuse to go to the Hokage Residence and breathe down Madara's neck the rest of the day.)

"You're working too hard, you know."

Hashirama laughed shortly. Tobirama was right. He wasn't even at the office; but Hashirama wasn't going to overwork Madara just because he himself was having a day off. (Hashirama was a workaholic anyway. He would probably be doing this even if it weren't Madara subbing for him. Although that did give him some added motivation.) "I'm just reading a few reports."

Tobirama raised an eyebrow at the towering stack of papers battling Hashirama's lunch for table space. The papers were winning.

"It's fine, Tobirama. I'd just have to do it later anyway." Who _was_ this report from? He'd assigned a Yamanaka to the mission, who'd promised to find a few teammates. The signature on the report wasn't the Yamanaka clan symbol. Or any other clan symbol. It was three random kanji stuck together.

"That's the idea of a day off, Hashirama," Tobirama said. "You do the work _later_." Hashirama continued trying to ignore him.

It wasn't very easy when Tobirama started pulling his hair. "Tobirama!" Hashirama jerked his hair out of Tobirama's hand, slapped down the report on the table (a decisive victory for the papers against the lunch), and glared at his brother. "_What_."

"When's the last time you cut your hair?"

"About a month ago," Hashirama lied. Now that he thought of it, about a year ago.

"You've got split ends." Tobirama pinched up a few strands of Hashirama's hair.

Hashirama swatted his hand away again. "I didn't think you cared so much about how my hair looks," he said testily. But Hashirama cared. Did he really have split ends?

"It means you haven't cut your hair in a while," Tobirama said. One of his pet peeves. "Weren't you going to do that?"

"It's not going to kill me," Hashirama said, exasperated.

"It _might_." Tobirama tugged on his hair again, but let go before Hashirama had a chance to knock his hand away. "What's been keeping you? I thought you said you'd cut it twice a month."

"Once every two months." Honestly, _twice_ a _month?_

"You haven't been doing that, either. Why not?"

Hashirama shrugged and picked up his report again. Because he was too busy? Because he was always going to get around to it but never did? Because he had more important priorities? Because...

He ignored the question. "Do you recognize this, uh... symbol?"

Tobirama gave him an annoyed look. But he glanced at the... whatever written at the bottom of the report. Then looked closer. "Huh."

"That's not a clan, is it?" Hashirama thought he knew all the clans in Konoha. He should, he was Hokage. He'd recruited them all.

"Don't think so..." Tobirama frowned. "How's that even pronounced?"

"Inoshikachou?"

Tobirama shrugged. "Maybe? I dunno."

"I'll go look it up tomorrow," Hashirama said, setting the report aside.

Luckily, Tobirama didn't bring up Hashirama's hair again. (But he thought he would get his hair cut anyway. Well, not _cut_, but. Just trim the ends off a tiny bit. If he did have split ends. He was the Hokage, he could have long hair if he wanted but he couldn't represent his village while looking like a slob. ...Plus, he _liked_ his hair.)

He had an actual reason why he just... wasn't cutting his hair. Allowing it to grow. A little bit. (Since he had last cut his hair, it had grown half a foot longer.) But it wasn't exactly a reason he could share with Tobirama. It wasn't exactly a reason he could share with himself.

(He hoped Madara hadn't noticed his split ends.)

xxx

It should be noted that the rest of the day passed uneventfully.

No radical new policies were put in place, no old policies were abolished.

No wars started.

Nothing exploded.

Madara did his job perfectly well, without stepping out of bounds at all, and he didn't even gloat about it.

So _there_.

On some level, Hashirama felt vindicated.

xxx

Hashirama had planned to wait... a couple of months, perhaps, until he made his announcement. So that it wouldn't look like he had rushed.

Somewhere in there, they caught the Three-Tailed Giant Turtle. Madara did it almost entirely himself. Hashirama was there, but he'd tell anyone who asked that Madara did almost the whole thing. (In fact, this may not have been true. But Hashirama was eager to give the credit and Madara was eager to take it, so the truth is irrelevant.)

There were the requisite celebrations. Hashirama and Madara both ducked out of as many as possible.

It was after the celebrations died down that Madara said he wanted to cash in on that day off Hashirama had promised him. He didn't give a reason why he wanted a day off. He didn't need to.

That was when everything came crashing down.

xxxxx


	13. RED EYED LOVE: Year Four

A/N: A note of clarification: in the line "Why didn't you call me," the character is not referring to calling on the phone, but "call" as in "call for me," "send me a message that you wanted me to come," that sort of thing.

Either this chapter is epic tragic angst, or it's pure Narm, and I don't know which it is. (For non-TVTropers, "Narm" means "tries to be dramatic; looks silly.") We shall see! Let me know how I did.

xxxxx

_RED EYED LOVE_

xxx

"Mito tried to ask me out yesterday," Madara said idly, staring out the window at the clear blue sky.

Hashirama's heart plummeted, until he noted the "tried to" and it shot right back up. "Oh... Really?"

"I said no, of course."

"Why's that?"

A pause. Madara shrugged. "No interest in her."

"Oh...? Why not?"

Still staring at the sky, Madara narrowed his gaze. "Are you going to make me say it?"

Hashirama had no idea what he was talking about. Actually, that was a lie. Actually, he had a very good idea. Actually, it was a very _bad_ idea, but he _hoped_ it was right, but he wasn't going to say—

Hashirama stared at him, and took a deep breath. "What... what are you... talking about?"

It was a long, long moment before Madara spoke. He smiled ruefully. "Did you ever wonder," he said, "why I spend so much time in this office with you, Hashirama?"

He couldn't breathe.

And then, Madara turned his eyes on Hashirama—his eyes as red as love.

And then, Hashirama woke up.

He jolted upright, staring blindly into the dark, jaw slack with shock.

And then he screamed in frustration and despair.

xxx

What was the point when everything had gone too far?

xxx

This wasn't Hashirama's first dream about Madara. It wasn't the second. It probably wasn't the hundredth dream, although he didn't remember them all and he didn't keep count.

This wasn't the first night Hashirama had sat up shivering and ashamed and wondering what was wrong with him _wrong_ with him _wrong_ with him. He had no idea how much sleep he had lost over his dreams of Madara, how many hours he'd spent trying to tell himself that he wasn't sick deluded perverted.

Every dream was a message from the Will of Fire. Every dream he had about Madara (almost invariably about certain things being stuck in places they had _no business going_) was a dream trying to _tell_ him something. He refused to believe that the Will of Fire had been trying to tell him that, that he was in—that he wanted to—with _Madara_, of all people. Every night that he had a dream like this, he would sit up or pace around or splash cold water on his face until he convinced himself that the Will of Fire was trying to make some kind of _metaphorical_ comment about Hashirama and Madara's prior relationship as battlefield opponents. He never tried to figure out how, exactly, that made any sense at all.

However. This was the first dream he'd had like _this_.

It wasn't vague action and touch and heat. It was something human and social and peaceful. It wasn't a dream. It was almost _reality_.

And Madara had almost said, that he...

(And maybe it was because Hashirama's feelings had changed, maybe that was why the dream was so different. What had Hashirama known about Madara when he had first dreamed about him? He had known that Madara was beautiful and that Madara was a powerful ninja and that Madara was suspicious of Hashirama. That was all. What did he know about him now? He knew that Madara had his brother's eyes and that Madara maybe-possibly-probably liked long hair and that Madara was over-related to his family and that Madara thought Hashirama was under-related to his family and that Madara kept hawks and that Madara had a sense of humor that almost nobody got; and that Madara would only admit he had flaws if it were possibly to misinterpret what he was saying and that Madara did more to help Konoha than anybody else did but only when nobody knew he was doing it; and that Madara respected Hashirama; and he knew what made Madara happy and he knew what made Madara angry and he knew how Madara felt about war and trust and family; and he knew a thousand more things and a million more things and more things than he could possibly recall but still things he would never forget. Whatever Hashirama had felt for Madara at the start of things, it wasn't what he felt now. He might never understand Madara completely, but now, now, he _knew_ Madara. And oh he was more beautiful than ever before. What Hashirama felt now was something _more_.)

Hashirama's typical denials didn't hold up to this new dream. What were his normal little claims? What did he usually tell himself?

That it didn't mean anything, it wasn't a literal dream, it didn't mean Hashirama felt anything for Madara...

_But what if Madara felt something for Hashirama?_

(Something in his stomach shivered at the thought.)

That Hashirama didn't have any sort of improper emotions, true it was some kind of obsession but not a _bad_ one for a ninja, it was just a holdover from their history of rivalry...

_But what if Madara did have some kind of emotions, not just an obsession but something else?_

(Something in his heart throbbed at the thought.)

That it was just warfare. It was just survival. It was just tactics. It was just strategy. That was what this was, the result of battle.

_But what if it didn't have to be?_

(Something in his throat caught at the thought.)

What if Madara, what if _Madara_ wanted something else, what if Hashirama simply didn't know yet?

And that is why his denials no longer worked. Because Hashirama had hope.

So, so, what did the dream mean? What _could_ it mean? The Will of Fire was trying to tell Hashirama something, _something_—he'd thought first that maybe it was just trying to tell him what was in his mind, trying to burn off his protective shield of denial. Well, it had done _that_.

He was in

no no _no_ why why why

He was in love.

With Madara.

Senju Hashirama was in love with Uchiha Madara. And he wanted to fuck him six ways from Sunday.

(Were those mutually inclusive? In Hashirama's mind, love and lust were like thunder and lightning: they were different things but you never had one without the other.)

But why had the Will of Fire chosen this way to tell Hashirama? Why hadn't it given him a dream of himself confessing his love to Madara? Why the other way around?

There was only one reason he could imagine.

Maybe all these years the Will of Fire hadn't been trying to tell him what he was feeling? Maybe it had been trying to tell him how Madara felt?

This wasn't the first dream he'd had about Madara, this wasn't the first night a dream had kept him awake.

This was the first dream that had made him think Madara might feel the same.

And sure, why not? _Didn't_ they spend all their time together? Didn't Madara joke around with him, when as far as Hashirama could tell he didn't joke around with anyone else? Hashirama loved to make Madara smile, maybe Madara was trying to make Hashirama smile? Didn't Madara do little favors for Hashirama without even telling him? Hashirama did all sorts of things for Madara's sake that Madara never found out about, maybe Madara did the same for Hashirama?

His mind raced through his memories, careening from event to event, gazing upon scenes with new eyes, re-interpreting them as befit his new theory (or his new wish). What did it mean when Madara tracked him down at lunch to sit with him and discuss some political issues that could easily wait until after lunch? What did it mean when Madara praised him behind his back, admitting he respected him, but never to his face? What had it meant when Madara had insisted letting Hashirama have a day off from work? What had it meant when Madara had gotten so furious when he'd thought Hashirama had been admiring Mito's body the first time she had come to Konoha? Anything was up and available for reinterpretation.

On some level, he sat back in horror as he observed his own mental work. As his mind stretched from memory to memory, like branches chasing sunlight, a question followed along and poisoned his progress, like a parasite burrowing through branches: _what is wrong with me wrong with me wrong with me..._

And even as his hope branched out and up, the parasite spread.

xxx

Hashirama got no more sleep that night.

He lived in the Hokage Residence now, all alone. Alone except for what felt like a thousand guards stationed at all times, two of which had come in to checked up on him when they heard him scream. He had assured them it was a bad dream. Just a bad dream.

He'd gone to bed less than an hour before midnight. He had woken up a little past two. By dawn, he was exhausted and he never wanted to fall asleep again.

By dawn, the post-dream stupor had faded and been entirely replaced by shame. (But that hope was still there, still growing, so fast, so glorious.) By dawn, he had also dunked his head in a sink of cold water three times—not that it was necessary, but because that was the only thing he could think of to do. By dawn, his dread of having to see Madara that day had become so overpowering he almost wanted to flee the Hokage Residence and take refuge in the Senju complex, just so that Madara couldn't see him (and somehow magically guess what Hashirama was thinking about, of course Madara would guess) when he came into work that day.

He couldn't see Madara.

Shortly after dawn, he remembered that Madara had told him yesterday that he was taking a day off.

After spending an hour trying to talk himself out of it, he left notice that he'd be back shortly and headed for the Uchiha complex.

He had to see Madara.

xxx

So what was the answer: why had the Will of Fire chosen this way to tell Hashirama? Why had it given him a dream of Madara confessing his love to Hashirama?

He only asked the question because he already knew the answer.

Which was why he dreaded talking to Madara. Which was why he had to talk to Madara.

Because, because... maybe Madara... maybe he also...

And _that_ was why Hashirama refused to hate himself yet. He still had hope, still had hope. (A hope infested with a parasite, _what's wrong with you_, ready to destroy him from the inside out, but hope all the same.) In Hashirama's dream, Madara had asked, _did you ever wonder why I spend so much time in this office with you, Hashirama?_ (Oh he said his name he said his name why hadn't that been real?) Well, what was the answer? Why did he spend so much time in Hashirama's office? And why _wasn't_ he courting anyone, when he so obviously could? How could Hashirama have ended up feeling like this when Madara hadn't? They had gone through the same fights, the same battles. Hashirama had decided: he couldn't be alone in this. He couldn't.

He couldn't.

And so...

Who cared if he was sick, if he was insane, if he was a man of dreams, if he was the most pitiful pitiable pervert in the world—who cared, if Madara loved him? If Madara loved him, then he was perfect. If Madara loved him, then he was the happiest man in the world. If Madara loved him, then nothing else mattered.

He had to find out.

"I haven't seen him yet, Hokage-sama," said one of the two Uchiha guards at the entrance to the complex. Nearly all the Uchiha guards were used to Hashirama's frequent visits to ask for Madara, but he was clearly puzzled that Hashirama was here so early in the morning. "I'm sure Madara will be at the Hokage Residence soon, though."

Hashirama shook his head. "Madara-sama said he was taking the day off."

"Oh. Really?" The guard shrugged helplessly. "Well, I don't know where he is."

The other guard said, "Wait, I think I saw him on my way here. He was having breakfast with a girl."

Devastation.

"Should we go get him for you, Hokage-sama?"

_Devastation._

"Hokage-sama? Are you..."

"Wh... oh. N-no, I mean... no. You don't... no, don't bother him. Just... leave him, I was just... checking."

"Are... are you sure? You could leave a message for..."

"No. I mean... yes—I mean—just... leave him. Leave him alone."

xxx

"What're you doing here? You need a clock. Do you know what time it... You look like a wreck!" That was Tobirama.

"I'm not... feeling... right. I don't..." And that was Hashirama.

"What happened? Did something happen? Hey, don't just stand there, get in here. Sit down. What's wrong?" They were in the Senju complex.

"I'm not... It's not... I'm fine. I just... I think I got sick with something or... something." They were in Tobirama's house.

"You _look_ it. Hashirama, what are you even doing up? You look like Madara just got finished with you."

Jolt. "How...?"

"You know. Like you... just had a battle or something." Pause. "He didn't do something. Did he?"

"No. _No_. No, never. Of course not. Don't blame him, he didn't... he'd never."

"Hashirama." Cold. "What's going on. Does it have to do with Madara. Tell me. What is it."

"It's nothing. Tobirama, I'm just, I just... I came down with something, I didn't want to go back to the Hokage Residence, that's all, I just... I can't... _handle_ today, I needed to come here, that's all."

"Hashirama, what are you not telling me? What—"

"Tobirama!" Hot. "Leave Madara-sama _out of it!_"

Silence. "Fine." Silence. "You didn't leave _him_ running things at the Hokage Residence, did you?"

"It's his day off."

"_What?_"

"Don't bother him."

"Then who's in charge..."

"Tobirama. Could you? Today?"

"Me?" Pause. "That's, I, but... I guess, I mean, I dunno what I'm supposed to do, I've never... You and Madara have always run everything..."

_Wince_. Whydidhehavetokeep_sayinghisname_

"Okay! Okay, I'll do it. I'll get someone to explain it. And you'll stay here? Get some rest?"

Nod. Weak.

"Good. Good. I don't think I've ever seen you like this before. You look awful. Do you want me to send a medic?"

"No." Weak.

"O... kay, if you say so... I'll get somebody to come by and check up on you around lunchtime, all right?"

Nod.

"Okay. You want me to help you to my room?"

"No."

"Okay. You know where it is. I'd better get going, who knows what'll happen if somebody goes looking for you in your office and nobody's there. Get better soon, okay?"

Nod.

Never.

And all he heard the entire conversation was a buzzing in his ears, that parasite of a question _what is wrong with me whatiswrongwithmewrongwithme_

And it ate at him and ate at him.

And it left nothing behind.

xxx

What now?

Was this it?

He tried to deny it, tried to pretend it wasn't true, tried to convince himself that he was normal.

This is what he tried to tell himself, over and over, that it was nothing, that they were enemies, that they had needed to know each other inside and out on the battlefield and somehow, somehow, somehow, all of this tied back to that. Somehow, all of this was nothing, all of this was just his mind reacting, his heart reacting, to the battles, just an extension of that. Nothing more. He tried to tell himself that as he sat in Tobirama's bedroom in the dark, for minutes, for hours; he tried to tell himself that, just to keep himself from going crazy with horror and disgust and self-loathing (because wasn't it abominable, wasn't it abhorrent, wasn't it atrocious and appalling and nauseating).

He tried to tell himself that it meant nothing when he woke up in the middle of the night from another dream and found that in some half-doze, when he was aware of his body but not of his actions, that somehow his hand had drifted down to help his dream out, to grope himself as he murmured __

He tried to tell himself that it meant nothing when _that_ man (on some rare, rare occasion) actually _smiled_, and something light and shivery and shimmery shot up from below his stomach and some rebellious delirious voice hissed _that smile that SMILE I think I'm in love oh please I want you I want you Madara I love you I love you_

He tried to tell himself that it meant nothing when someone asked him when he would _settle down_ and was it true he hadn't _been with someone_ yet and he had to stop himself from saying of course he had _been with someone_, but how could anyone else's body compare to Madara's, beautiful Madara, with his hair and his skin and his _smile_ and his eyes his eyes that he loved so much his beautiful beautiful _eyes_

He tried to tell himself that it meant nothing when his enemy, his co-founder came up to him and said something and the words disappeared and all that was left was the mouth moving moving and all he wanted to do was lean towards that face and that mouth and kiss Madara and wrap his arms around him and pull him in closer and just kiss him and _kiss_ him and feel him and _taste_ him and hold him and _love_ him

He shut his eyes and swallowed a sob.

He couldn't stop the thoughts. He couldn't stop himself.

So this was what it was like, to be in love.

So this was what it was like, to be a man of dreams.

Hashirama had always thought it would be different. He'd thought that love was supposed to be something warm and soft and bright, something that dried your tears, held you close, something that even at its worst and most lonely would be bittersweet, with enough sweet to make the bitter tolerable. He'd thought that a man of dreams would be too far gone in his own delusions to know what he was, too perversely delighted in his own fantasies to care what people thought about him.

Yet here was Hashirama, in Tobirama's bathroom and staring at himself. The mirror violently threw his own face back at him, forced him to stare into his own eyes, to know himself and his own monstrosity. Love, it turned out, was something cold and hard and dark, merciless and distant, and the taste it left behind was bittersour.

Just to see what it felt like, he met his own gaze (that was the hardest part) and forced himself to hiss the words (_that_ was the hardest part).

"I love Uchiha Madara."

He could see the shame in his own eyes.

The bittersour taste the words left was so strong, he had to clap a hand over his mouth and choke back the bile and another sob. He felt sick. He felt sick. He was sick.

So this was what it was like, to be lovesick.

xxx

Four hours had passed when somebody knocked on the door.

"Yes?" That was Hashirama.

"Hokage-sama." That was Kagayaki Koori, the man who had designed the leaf symbol to represent Konoha. Almost nobody remembered he'd done that, but when somebody remembered him at all that was why they remembered him. He bowed. "I'm glad to see you're well enough to be up. Tobirama-san told me you might be asleep." Pause. "You really don't look well, you know."

"I know." What was Hashirama wearing, anyway? Probably whatever clothes he'd thrown on to go to the Uchiha complex. Whatever. "Did Tobirama want anything, or am I just supposed to prove I'm alive?"

"That's about it, sir," Koori said. "Tobirama-san also wants you to know that if you get hungry you're free to eat anything from his kitchen."

"Thanks," he said. "Oh, and, Koori-san... tell me, how's Tobirama doing? Is he handling things well?"

"Yessir, he's doing well enough," Koori said. "Today hasn't been a busy day, so we've been doing most of the work for him. He keeps asking what we're doing."

"That's fine. Tell him to keep up the good work."

"Yessir, Hokage-sama."

Hashirama shut the door.

Senju Hashirama was a man; but he was also a ninja, and a ninja is an entirely different creature from a man. A ninja isn't even a creature; it is a tool. It is a job, a duty, a function it must execute. A man can be breaking down inside, shattered to the core by the realization of his own perversion, but a ninja does not show that—a ninja puts on the appropriate mask for the occasion and goes on, as if it is impenetrable. A ninja does what it must.

However, as soon as the door was shut, Hashirama broke again. He leaned against the door, and sank to the floor.

And stayed there for a long, long time.

xxx

"What's wrong with me."

In the past thirty hours—since yesterday morning when everything had been all right—Hashirama had slept two hours.

The two in which he had dreamed.

His eyes in the mirror were bloodshot and puffy.

"What's _wrong_ with me."

Hashirama had only been here, in the dark in Tobirama's house, for a morning—it felt so much longer, infinitely longer.

He had not eaten in over sixteen hours.

The face that glared at him from the mirror was haggard and hateful.

And then he was screaming into the mirror.

"What is _WRONG WITH YOU!_ I never asked for this! I never wanted this! I never did anything wrong! Is this a _test?_ Am I supposed to be able to get rid of this? What am I supposed to do! What did I do to deserve THIS!"

Was it because he had never mastered the Shinobi Rules? Was it because, during missions, he had never completely killed his emotions? Was it because he believed that love could save the world? Was _this_ what happened when you went into combat against an enemy and you hadn't managed to shut your heart down?

Was it because he had been around too few girls when he was growing up? Or had he been around too many? Was it because sometimes he caught himself looking too closely at other men when he was at a hot spring? Was this backlash from refusing to join in when other guys tried to peek at bathing girls or read dirty magazines? Was it because he'd masturbated too few times when he was younger? Or too many?

Was it punishment for something he had done and forgotten? Was it punishment for the crimes of an ancestor passed down to him through the Will of Fire? Was it an internal trial that all ninja secretly went through and he was just the only one who had failed?

Crash.

"_What is wrong with you._"

Smash.

"_WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!_"

When he came to his senses, the sink and the ground were covered with tiny glass fragments. The wooden wall over the sink had ruptured and sprung forth gnarled branches.

Hashirama was breathing heavily, and his knuckles were bleeding.

He still didn't know what was wrong with him.

But he was going to fight it. He was going to fight it until it broke.

Even though that meant breaking himself.

xxx

Another four hours had passed when somebody knocked on the door.

"Ye—_Madara?_"

Fury flared in Madara's gaze. Something shivered from Hashirama's stomach through his heart and lodged in his throat.

Madara Madara Madara, what was _he_ doing here oh heavens oh hells what did he want why was he here, did he know maybe he knew how did he _know_ everything—

"Senju." If Madara ever tried to speak while using his Great Fireball technique, tried to speak while breathing fire, _that_ is what his voice would sound like.

What did Hashirama look like right now? He was wearing the same clothes he'd worn to visit the Uchiha complex, just a happi coat and pants, but the coat was disheveled and barely belted and the pants were wrinkled and probably sagging too low; and his eyes were still bloodshot and puffy from exhaustion and crying, and his hair wasn't combed and wasn't parted and half of it was hanging in his face; and his knuckles were all cut up and he probably had bits of glass and leaves all over him, and he was slouching and gawking and he looked like a moron _why_ did Madara have to see him like _this?_

Why did he _care_ how Madara saw him? They were both ninja, they had seen each other in worse shape—

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Madara demanded.

_What is wrong with you wrong with you wrong with you—_Hashirama gawked some more. What? How did he—Madara _did_ know, that was the only explanation, he knew _everything_. But how did he...? How long had he... had he figured it out _today?_ That was the only way he could have... What did Hashirama say, what could he say? Should he tell Madara he didn't know what was wrong with him, or should he plead for help in getting rid of this, or should he beg forgiveness for bringing Madara into it—

"Senju!"

"What!"

"What were you _thinking?_" Madara narrowed his eyes (why did they _why_ did they have to be so beautiful, it was like staring into the sun and Hashirama felt like crying from the sight). "Maybe you can't help it if you're so deathly ill you just have to take a day off, but to call on that... on your... your so-called _brother_ to fill in for you?"

Hashirama just stared. He had no idea what this was about. Not a single clue. "What?"

"Why didn't you call _me_!"

A hopeful, broken voice from somewhere deep inside Hashirama sobbed out _he wanted me to call him, he wanted me to call him, maybe he, maybe he... _And then it gave up.

"What?" Hashirama said again. And just as Madara was about to continue his raging, something clicked back on in his mind (oh wait he's talking about the Hokage Residence) and he hastily pulled himself together, and reminded himself that he was a ninja he was a ninja and that ninja do not feel. "It was your day off, I didn't want you to have to—"

"So what!"

"I... I heard that you were spending the day with some... girl..."

"_So?_" Madara jabbed an accusatory finger towards Hashirama. "Don't you have some sort of day care in the Hokage Residence? I could have left her there!"

Once again, he had no idea what Madara was talking about.

"Or I could have found someone else to look after her!" Madara said. "I'm the _leader_ of the _Uchiha clan_, Senju! Just because I try to help out in the complex when I get a chance doesn't mean there is _nobody in my entire clan_ I could order to babysit a seven-year-old cousin!"

Wait. The... the girl he'd been eating breakfast with, was...? "You were... baby... sitting?"

He didn't answer the question Hashirama asked. "It doesn't matter! I could find an opportunity to spend more time with her if I wanted to, she _is_ probably my... my brother's..." He took a sharp breath. For a moment, Hashirama saw a pain in Madara's eyes that made him ashamed of all the times he'd thought he'd known suffering. When Madara continued, his voice was ragged with rage (or something else). "Why didn't you _call_ me, Senju."

"I'm... sorry, Madara-sama, I thought that... today was your day off, so I..."

"I can take a day off any time. That isn't the priority! What's most important is that somebody who _knows what he's doing_ be in charge of Konoha. If you aren't in that office, Senju, then the only other person who deserves to be in there is Uchiha Madara-sama."

"I... yes, I know that, I'm sorry, I wasn't... I don't feel well today, Madara-sama, I just wasn't thinking straight."

"Is that your excuse?" Madara scowled. "What kind of a ninja are you? The sixth time I fought you and the first time I _defeated_ you, I was running a fever so high I thought that might be my last battle. My baby brother successfully completed twenty-seven missions _blind_ before he died in combat. You hardly even look sick. You think I'll believe you're so infirm you'd just toss responsibility for the entire village to that other Senju?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

Madara glared at him, for a long moment. Studying him. With that dark, calculating look he reserved for his enemies in battle, when he was trying to determine their tactics based on their facial expressions alone. When he was trying to figure out how to tear them apart. "I don't know, either."

He turned and left.

Hashirama shut the door, and sank to the ground against it, stunned.

Hashirama's thoughts, in order of arrival:

How am I going to get Madara to forgive me?

Wait. Madara wasn't courting somebody, Madara's still free?

... Is that all that matters to me? Why aren't I wondering how he got into the Senju complex?

Hashirama laughed at himself. It turned into a sob.

He couldn't keep doing this. He couldn't keep torturing himself. He couldn't keep deluding himself.

He couldn't keep dreaming about Madara.

xxxxx


	14. A Ninja Cannot: Year Four

A/N: First of all, I figure most English-speaking people know what the term "sloshed" means. However, anecdotal evidence from a small polling pool (i.e., my teen brother) suggests that it's not as common a slang term as I thought, which is why I'm using it here as a term that people are expected to know but that not all people do know. For those who _don't_ know what it means, "sloshed" means "drunk." (Wow, I can't believe I just explained that.)

Also, if last chapter was in danger of going narmy, this chapter is in extra danger. It feels a bit like it came out of left field, even to me, but I've justified it as well as I can and, really, is there any way something like this would _not_ come out of left field? So let me know how I do.

Hope you enjoy! And please remember to review!

xxxxx

_A Ninja Cannot_

xxx

Hashirama had already decided to fight this thing, to fight against being a man of dreams; if he thought that should change just because Madara might be single after all, then that just demonstrated how badly he was messed up.

So here he was, pacing back and forth in Tobirama's dark living room, trying to think his way through this and out of this.

So what if Madara wasn't accounted for? So what if Hashirama didn't _know_ if he happened to be courting someone or not? So what if he didn't know why Madara spent so much time with him in the Hokage's office? What was Hashirama going to do about it? Just keep fantasizing over him, like the man of dreams he was? Forget his duties and shirk his responsibilities, grieve whenever something woke him from his fantasies, lose himself in his day dreams and wet dreams?

He couldn't do that anymore. Hashirama had a village to lead. There were people counting on him, there were the hopes of previous generations calling to him through the Will of Fire, there were the fates of future generations resting on his shoulders. As the Hokage, what he did now would affect the village's children, and the world's grandchildren.

What he did as the Hokage could alter the world's destiny.

And he was terrified.

When could he afford to pine for Madara?

He was helping define Konoha's role in the world, helping it become something that would last forever. He had to determine how it would interact with the Land of Fire, how it would interact with other nations, how it would interact with the other new hidden villages. He had to decide what kind of missions they would take, what kind they wouldn't, how they would take them, from whom they would take them, why they would take them. He had to teach Konoha's clans to think of themselves as one village, and then teach the village to think of itself as one family.

How could he do that if he was spending all of his time watching Madara out of the corner of his eyes? Thinking about what Madara thought of him? Trying to make Madara like him?

No good would come of it. Someday, he would make a mistake and it would be disastrous—something like handing a map of the entire village to a spy. He could yearn and lust for Madara for the rest of his wretched life, and he would never get him—and Konoha would struggle and fall from neglect.

... But, what if he _did_ get him?

Hashirama almost paused his pacing, but went on. No. It wouldn't happen. It would never happen. Madara didn't care about him.

... But why did Madara seek him out so often?

Because they led the village together, that was all, that was all. If Madara had the slightest clue how Hashirama felt, he would despise him.

... But what if he felt the same?

So what if he did! What good would it do! It would be impossible for them to act on it, it wasn't like they could... could _court_ each other, there was nothing they could do, there was no way it would work.

... But what if they found a way—

Hashirama stopped himself. He actually froze, stopping dead in the middle of the room. What if, what if, what if— He was just dreaming again. He was just fantasizing. Like the man of dreams he was.

Even when he told himself it wouldn't work even when he told himself he had to quit even when he told himself to stop he couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't get Madara out of his head. He was fighting against himself and he was losing.

But he _had_ to get Madara out of his head. He had to stop himself from dreaming. For his own good, for the good of the village... and for Madara's good.

He started pacing again, faster. He couldn't stand this anymore. He had to do something—_now_—whatever it took to get this out of his head. Anything. Anything—

He stopped again. Staring through the dark at the gloomy doorway into Tobirama's kitchen.

Anything.

He walked into the kitchen.

He almost never drank. He didn't like the taste, and he hated the feeling—he hated to loosen up, to lose control, to forget himself.

But he was also a ninja, and ninja did not have opinions, did not have emotions. A ninja did what it must. A ninja fulfilled its duty, using whatever tools were necessary.

So he told himself: he had no choice.

He could not think of a single solitary other way to get rid of these thoughts, this disease in his mind. No... no healthy way. If you fight fire with wood, you get burned; by extension, if you fight disease with medicine, you get sick. So, fight fire with fire. Fight disease with poison.

He prowled through the kitchen, opening cabinet doors at random. This was a stupid idea, a destructive idea, but it was the only one he had. Somehow, somehow, he had to get rid of these stupid fantasies. Everyone said alcohol was supposed to make you... _relax_ (not that he wanted to relax), it was supposed to make you forget your problems, at least for a bit—and that was all he needed, to forget Madara. At least for a little bit.

He had heard you don't dream when you're drunk.

There. Four bottles of sake, all on one shelf. He grabbed one, read the label, couldn't make any sense of it. He didn't even know how much he was supposed to drink. He'd just down the whole thing. Whatever it took.

He twisted the cap off, tried to forget how much he hated this, and gulped down the sake like he was dying of thirst.

xxx

Who the hell needed Madara, anyway!

Who the... who the hell needed _him_? He was just one lousy, miserable little son of a... whatever! He was just an Uchiha. Uchiha burned down trees. Freaking burned them down. To the ground. All the time. Hashirama seen it. He'd _seen_ it. With his own eyes. Hashirama _liked_ trees, dammit.

Who the hell was Madara, anyway? Just some pretty guy. There were lots of pretty guys! Dammit, Hashirama was a pretty guys! Guy. He had pretty hair, right? He liked his hair. He was going to look at his pretty hair to prove that it was pretty. Right now. With his own eyes.

What the hell is the mirror _still_ broken dammit what the hell.

Those Uchiha all looked the same anyway. All the same. Madara was a helluva lot prettier than the rest of them but he still looked just like the rest of them. 'Cause they were all freaking related like crazy. Madara probably had like forty half-nieces that he was screwing, anyway. Like, _together_. And that stupid seven-year-old one, too. Yeah. Hah. Which, that, if that one was Madara's brother's, shouldn't it be a niece-niece, so, shouldn't it be a... not a cousin, but a... um... _And_ that stupid seven-year-old one! And Hashirama didn't blame them. Madara was freaking _gorgeous_. Hell, if Madara was _his_ half-niece, he'd want to screw him, too!

Wait. Wait. Madara wasn't the half-niece, Madara was the... he was the guy with the... the freaking... half... yeah.

What the hell was a half-niece?

Why was it so damn _dark_ in here? Hashirama was tripping over his own feet and... yeah! What?

Hashirama didn't even _like_ Madara! He'd _never_ liked Madara. He was just stupid, and and, and... and he was annoying, yeah, he was annoying. And he was wily. Like an Uchiha. Because of his eyes. Those were. Those were some, damn. Those were _gorgeous_ eyes.

Wait! No!

Damn that wily Uchiha! What the hell was this, like a genjutsu or... whatever? How in the hell did he _do_ that. He wasn't even _here_ and he had this, this, genjutsu that made... the gorgeous eyes, and... he wasn't even here!

Or was he? ... Aw, hell.

See, see, that's the problem with genjutsu. You cannot tell when there is one. You, you can't—you cannot—freaking—tell. There's no way. That's, that's what makes it work. And that, is why, you never look an Uchiha in the eye. Ever. 'Cause then they'll... yeah. Oh hell, maybe _that's_ what Hashirama did wrong. He shouldn't have looked in his eyes. Even though they are freaking gorgeous.

Okay, you know what? If Hashirama still thought Madara's eyes were gorgeous, then, obviously, he was not drunk enough.

Hey.

Why was the sake gone?

He didn't drink the whole thing, did he? Did somebody else drink the... damn.

Were there more in the kitchen? Where was the kitchen.

Who the hell put a closet where the kitchen was?

Oh. Here.

How do you get the cap off of this thing?

Oh. There.

What was he doing, again? There was the, the mirror and the... there was a genjutsu, and... Oh. Right.

Who the hell needed Uchiha Madara!

After a bottle and a half of sake, Shodai Hokage Senju Hashirama finally passed out in his brother's living room. He'd left the first bottle in a random closet; he spilled the rest of the second bottle all over, shortly before joining it on the floor in an inebriated sleep.

He didn't dream.

When Tobirama arrived home, he had absolutely no idea what to make of this.

xxx

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." That was Hashirama, mumbling into the toilet bowl.

"I'm sure it did." And that was Tobirama, holding Hashirama's hair back. "What I want to know is _why_ you thought getting sloshed was the best way to deal with being sick."

"Getting what?"

Tobirama paused. "You don't even know what that _means_." He sounded amazed. "Hashirama, you're not a drinker."

"Yeah."

And then he threw up again.

xxx

This is what Tobirama made of all of this:

He didn't know what it was, but something had happened to Hashirama yesterday, the day Tobirama had come home and found him passed-out drunk. He'd said he was sick, and okay, maybe Tobirama would have bought that, anybody could be sick—but what in the _world_ did _being sick_ have to do with _downing two bottles of sake?_ (Okay, based on the very large damp patch in the living room, Hashirama had probably drunk much less than that, and thank goodness; however much he _had_ ended up drinking, it was way too much.)

When Hashirama had recovered somewhat, he'd offered some weak explanation that he'd heard something about using sake as a painkiller, and he'd had a headache. That was either the dumbest cover story Tobirama had ever heard, or else Hashirama was the most alcohol-ignorant person in the world, to think that getting drunk would _cure_ a headache.

But as ignorant as he knew Hashirama was on the subject (he didn't even know what "sloshed" meant?), he _knew_ that Hashirama knew all the negative results of drinking. Whenever Tobirama tried to talk him into having a casual drink, he would rattle off all these side-effects as the reasons why he was going to refuse. This just didn't make sense.

Tobirama wasn't angry at him. He was too baffled. Hashirama, _his_ older brother, do something like this? The guy who turned down drinks as consistently and decidedly as if he thought they were poisoned? The guy who refused to eat meat, and who got a mournful look in his eye whenever he passed a tree stump? The guy who had asked the _Uchiha clan_ to join up with their clan to create a village? Hashirama was the most pacifistic, puritanical man Tobirama knew.

This wasn't like his brother at all. Tobirama just couldn't hold him accountable. He couldn't blame him for destroying his mirror. He couldn't blame him for destroying part of his bathroom wall with his Wood Release. He couldn't blame him for knocking over half the contents of his closet, and leaving behind an empty sake bottle. He couldn't blame him for ruining three tatami mats in the living room, which now reeked of alcohol. He couldn't blame him for drinking until he passed out, for throwing up twice (once in the hall and once in the toilet), for having to spend the next day at Tobirama's house again while he recovered from his hangover.

How could he blame Hashirama for things he would never, ever do?

Tobirama didn't know what had happened. He couldn't even begin to imagine what had caused Hashirama to act like this. And really, deep down, he didn't even care about the cause—just as long as it didn't happen again. Please. Hashirama was supposed to be the older brother, wasn't he? He was supposed to be the responsible one, wasn't he? Tobirama was the younger brother, he wasn't supposed to be taking care of Hashirama. He was here to _support_ him, yes, as a younger brother should—but not take care of him.

Maybe this would be an isolated incident. It had to be. Didn't it? Because Hashirama wasn't like this. Tobirama's elder brother _was not_ like this. And Tobirama had no idea what was going on.

All he knew was that, somehow, this had to do with Madara.

He didn't know _what_ Madara had to do with this, but he was involved. And didn't that just figure. Tobirama didn't trust Madara. He didn't deserve trust. He was the leader of the Uchiha clan, how could he be trusted? Tobirama didn't know why Hashirama trusted him so much, but as much as Tobirama had faith in his older brother's judgment, in this case he thought Hashirama's trust was ill-founded. Everyone could tell (well, Tobirama could tell) that the only reason Madara even condescended to speak to Hashirama was because he wanted his job. He wanted to take over Konoha, and then probably tear it apart.

So _why_ did Hashirama trust him?

Fine, fine, Tobirama knew that Hashirama was the most zealous peace-monger in the world. How he ended up that way, Tobirama would never know. They'd both grown up in the same clan, on the same battlefields, and sure, while Tobirama supported peace inasmuch as it would help protect his family, he couldn't understand why it was like... like Hashirama was desperate even to save his enemies' lives. Tobirama didn't get that. But he knew that whatever the reason was, that was what Hashirama was like. So of course it made sense that he'd want to reach out to the Uchiha clan in the same way.

But there was so much more to it than that. He didn't just extend the hand of friendship to the Uchiha clan, he seemed hellbent on making sure they shook just as enthusiastically as he did. And not even the entire Uchiha clan—mainly Madara.

Fine, fine, so Hashirama liked Madara. For some inexplicable reason. Hashirama was usually pretty level-headed (albeit idealistic), and usually had good taste in friends (not that Madara could even be called that), so Tobirama supposed he'd have to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But this was different. Madara had done something, _something_, Tobirama didn't even know what, and it had hurt Hashirama. And Hashirama wasn't even holding him accountable. How could he not blame Madara for whatever it was he had done?

Tobirama had been skeptical enough of Madara before. After this, he would tolerate Madara for as long as Hashirama did—but he would never trust him again.

And he would never discover that Madara had not done anything at all.

xxx

This is what Madara made of all of this:

He was losing.

He was not in Konoha because he believed in peace or love or saving the world. He was in the village for the sake of his clan. His clan, which needed him, relied on him, looked up to him. His was the only voice in Konoha that represented the desires of the Uchiha clan.

And he was failing his clan.

Bad enough that he hadn't been chosen as the first leader of this village—although, he had to admit (and _had_ admitted long ago) that technically it was more fitting that Senju Hashirama be the first leader. He had created this village, after all. And as much as Madara would have liked to have that position, he understood perfectly well why he did not. Although he didn't understand why they couldn't have been _co_-leaders... But that was another matter.

The more important matter, right now, was the fact that his clan still needed him. And he was failing the clan.

If there were to be any leader for Konoha that treated the Uchiha clan fairly, it couldn't be a leader from the Senju clan. As hard as Hashirama was trying to act all nice and welcoming, only a few years earlier he had made a living out of slaughtering Madara's family. How could he claim to lead them without bias? As long as a Senju was in power, no matter how hard he tried, the Uchiha clan would never be treated entirely fairly. There was no way Hashirama actually held no ill-will toward Madara's clan. There was no way he actually held no ill-will toward _Madara_.

And he was beginning to realize that he was a fool for ever thinking that Hashirama _might_ be the hero he so claimed to be.

He had said—never in words, but in countless looks, countless gestures, countless underneath-the-underneath hidden comments—that he wanted Madara to be his equal. That even though Hashirama was the first leader, Madara was supposed to have just as much authority. And that when he chose a second leader, it would be Madara. He may never have "said" it, but he had _said_ it, over and over. Wasn't that why he allowed—asked—wanted Madara to perform almost all of the same duties he did? Wasn't that why Madara knew as much about the village as Hashirama did? Every secret the village had was a secret shared with Madara. Since there was no other explanation for the preferential treatment, Madara could only come to one conclusion: Hashirama was making sure that, when the time came, Madara would be prepared to take his place as the leader of the village.

And when Madara did take control, he had planned on repaying the favor Hashirama had done the Uchiha clan. Even if Madara himself didn't give half a care about the Senju clan, he would treat them fairly, in return for Hashirama's efforts to treat the Uchiha clan fairly. Madara may have intensely detested the Senju clan, but he knew better than to dishonor a clan with which his clan was allied—and, furthermore, a clan on whose good graces his clan had relied. He would treat the Senju with respect. It was only fitting.

But apparently that hadn't been Hashirama's plan after all.

What else could explain this? After being so ridiculously polite and helpful and inviting to Madara, the first time he had a minor crisis, the most minor of crises, just a stupid stomach bug or whatever that had been—who did he call upon to lead the village? When Hashirama was not there to actually supervise his substitute, in whose hands did he trust the office of Hokage?

Not the man he had supposedly been training to take the position. His "brother." Another Senju. A _Senju_.

After all his pretty words and his promises and his preaching—after spending the past few years saying he was cooperative, saying he wanted to get along with everyone, no matter their clan... when the situation was desperate, not even Hashirama would trust an Uchiha.

So what did that mean? How should Madara interpret the way Hashirama had treated him up to now? Hashirama had always been polite enough to him, far more polite than any other Senju, more polite than Madara would have expected out of him, considering their relationship—but it never came off as genuine. It was always an awkward, self-conscious, stilted politeness. Artificial. A lie.

Madara had been in denial for too long. He had known this and refused to acknowledge this fact: _the way Hashirama treated him was not the same as the way Hashirama felt_.

Madara could read everything about him in a glance, every nuance of his facial expression, his body language... he could read everything except for his dark, dead eyes.

Hashirama was not an Uchiha. His eyes did not _speak_.

But Madara understood those eyes well enough to know that what Hashirama said and did and what Hashirama felt were very different things—at least, in regard to Madara himself. But why the perpetual deceit? What was he hiding from Madara?

He had allowed himself to ignore Hashirama's behavior so far. After his initial skepticism, he'd allowed himself to be swept up by the optimism and the airy promises—peace and safety for his family, a whole village of protection backing up the Uchiha clan. He was a fool for it. He should have stayed more skeptical. He should have demanded to know what Hashirama was concealing from him.

He feared that Hashirama was concealing treachery. He did not mean to treat the Uchiha clan equally—they were, and always would be, the Senju clan's enemies. And he was treating Madara so well to keep him from realizing that. He didn't plan on sharing power. He didn't plan on naming Madara the next Hokage.

Madara hoped he was wrong. He prayed he was wrong. He prayed he hadn't knowingly led his clan into subjugation under Senju—and hadn't he _known_, hadn't he _tried_ to talk them out of this alliance? But until they received proof, Madara would not be able to convince them that they were in danger. Even if he convinced them now, he might not be able to save them. Konoha was already strong, and getting stronger. He didn't know what it would take for a clan so entrenched in Konoha's foundations to uproot itself and escape.

So he had no choice but to wait. Before he could even consider acting, he needed to see proof, with his own eyes, that Hashirama intended on deceiving and double-crossing Madara.

And when he did, he planned on repaying Hashirama's favor. In return for Hashirama's efforts to betray the Uchiha clan, Madara would betray the Senju clan.

xxx

This is what Hashirama made of all of this:

His head hurt.

A lot.

But it had worked, if only briefly—it had let him forget Madara. It had let him forget himself.

However, it wasn't a permanent solution. And how effective a leader could he be, if this was his only way of handling his problems?

He knew what he needed to do.

And it was the most painful thing he could imagine. He had gone so far as to create a village for the sake of this one man, but, if he was going to protect this village...

He had to get Madara out of his life.

He couldn't keep dragging Madara along to everything he did. He couldn't keep calling him up at random, giving him special missions, trying to bribe him into liking Hashirama better. He had to eliminate Madara's presence in his life.

And it would be painful, extraordinarily painful. But it had to be done.

It was all for the best.

xxx

"Hokage-sama." Madara just marched into Hashirama's office, without asking, like he owned the place.

Hashirama instinctively tensed. Why so abrupt, what did he want? It took him a moment to remember that was how Madara _always_ came into the office. Hashirama had just never noticed before because (sick pervert that he was) he'd always welcomed the company.

But it was too late, Madara had already noticed Hashirama's wariness. He slowed and stopped in the middle of the room, farther back than he would ever normally stand. "Something wrong?" Suspicion.

"Uh..." Hashirama had to force himself to look at Madara—and then he had to force himself to look away again, as his stomach lurched, his heart lurched. (It hurt, oh he wanted him why must he want him why couldn't he have him what was wrong with—) "No. No. Of—" why did it have to be so hard to talk around Madara— "course not."

Madara said nothing.

(Hashirama was on the verge of breaking into sobs like a heartbroken little girl, this was the first he'd seen of Madara since, since—)

Madara said, "Hmm."

Say something, say something—what did he say? Oh he wanted to say something nice, he wanted to say something to make Madara like him, he wanted to say something to make Madara stay—but he couldn't, he couldn't, he knew he couldn't do that because it was _wrong_. So what did he say—something neutral, something professional, something unemotional, untainted by love untainted by lust. He couldn't let himself keep getting sucked in sucked into Madara's presence...

"Can I help you." Neutral enough? Neutral enough. Please let it be.

A moment of silence. "I'm here to report on yesterday's events," Madara finally said. "Since I filled in for _your_ duties."

Had he really? Hashirama supposed he must have—two days ago Tobirama had done it but yesterday Hashirama had been recovering from that hangover and Tobirama had stayed home with him...

His mood lifted a bit. If Madara needed to report what had gone on yesterday, then Hashirama could listen to him speak, could just listen to him, for a few minutes, nothing more, he could spend a little time with his beloved—

His mood crashed back down. _What was wrong with him_. He couldn't let himself do that, couldn't just _indulge_ in this, this, disgusting...

He had to refuse. For his own sake. "Just write me up a summary." For the village's sake. "You can drop it off later." For Madara's sake. He had to refuse.

(He had to remind himself of _why_ he was refusing _as_ he refused, or he wouldn't have been able to do it. He hadn't been able to look at Madara.)

A longer moment of silence. "Really, Hokage-sama?" His voice was so cold.

"I'm sure you have other duties to attend to." Yes. Yes, he did. Hashirama couldn't force Madara to cater to his every whim when he should be doing something productive.

"Fine." Cold _and_ hard. Hashirama fought the urge to say something conciliatory—_forgive me, like me, love me, oh please_—no.

He didn't look up until the door shut behind Madara.

He'd never imagined it would be so hard.

He wasn't even sure what "it" was.

Controlling himself? Not looking at Madara? Fighting the urge to cry? Finding the right words for neutrality?

No.

"It" was being a ninja. "It" was shutting down his emotions, doing what he had to do. Hashirama was a man, true, but the kind of man he _was_ was a man of dreams. But he was also a ninja, and a ninja does not feel, does not lust, does not hurt. A ninja does what it must. A ninja cannot be persuaded by emotions.

Hashirama had thought, his entire life, that he was a ninja.

Maybe not.

xxx

What Hashirama didn't realize until after Madara had left his office: as the conversation had progressed, Hashirama had slowly curled into himself, shoulders hunched, chin lowered, spine bending; as if he were trying to put as much thick flesh and solid bone as he could between Madara and his heart.

What Hashirama didn't realize at all: as the conversation had progressed, Hashirama had slowly grown more stoic, voice hardened, sentences clipped, eyes unwelcoming; as if he were trying to put as much haughty contempt and arrogant disdain as he could between himself and Madara's heart.

But Madara noticed.

xxx

And Hashirama saw Madara less and less.

And less.

xxxxx


	15. Growing the Gallows: Year Five

A/N: I feel like I should put _something_ up here, even though I've got nothing to say this chapter. So I shall waste some space with a non sequitur announcement: I like _Darkwing Duck_. It's a cool, clever show, and both the heroes and villains are hilarious and have great chemistry. I hope to get the comic soon.

That is all.

Enjoy the chapter! And please do remember to review, whether it be to comment, critique, or angrily shout advice at Hashirama and/or Madara.

xxxxx

_Growing the Gallows_

xxx

**Year Five**

The Year Madara Died

xxx

Time was ticking down.

Hashirama had planned on waiting just a few months before announcing his successor. Maybe two, three. Just so it wouldn't look like he had rushed.

That didn't happen.

Nearly a year had passed since the daimyo had asked him to choose the Nidaime Hokage. They were approaching Konoha's third anniversary (and somewhere in there was the fifth anniversary of the day Hashirama had first seen Madara), and the daimyo was running out of patience. He had given Hashirama a limit, an ultimatum: by the end of Konoha's third year. By its birthday, you must have a successor.

He was running out of time.

xxx

"How's the selection process going?" Mito asked.

Hashirama hesitated for a long moment before answering. "Oh, it's... going." He shrugged. "I don't want to rush into it..." He didn't want to talk about it.

She frowned at him, squinting suspiciously, but didn't press it. "I see," she said. "So... how's he doing, right?"

"Who?"

She paused. "Madara-sama." Of course.

Of course.

Hashirama wasn't proud of it—but this was how he coped. He couldn't be with Madara. He even be anywhere near Madara. He didn't trust himself to be around Madara. But at the very least, he could talk about him, couldn't he?

And Mito was the only person with whom he could talk about Madara, without receiving any scorn. Tobirama always seemed so... _worried_ when he brought up Madara, for some reason. (Hell, he knew the reason why, he _knew_ why.) The other shinobi that Hashirama worked with didn't like it much either (or perhaps Hashirama was so uncomfortable, he was misinterpreting their neutrality). He was _sure_ he knew why: they had to be suspicious. They were starting to wonder. That was what he thought. That was what he felt. That was the only explanation, that they were starting to think, "Why does Senju Hashirama spend so much time talking about... Perhaps he's...?"

Hashirama tried not to talk about Madara.

But he could, at least, with Mito. Sure, he knew that she was over Madara, and he himself was... in recovery. But unlike everyone else in the village, it seemed, they both actually admired him. They could discuss him freely.

"I haven't seen a lot of him lately."

"Really?" Mito seemed disappointed. "You don't have any news about what he's been up to?"

Well, what did Hashirama share? The recent list of missions he knew Madara had completed? The names of the kunoichi he had heard admiring Madara from afar? The fact that Madara no longer directly came to Hashirama when he had news—much to Hashirama's mingled pain and relief—but instead sent whatever random messenger he could track down at the time, anything from a trainee ninja to one of Hashirama's own bodyguards?

"I saw him a few days ago," he said, almost embarrassed at himself for choosing this of all anecdotes to share. He told himself he only chose it because he knew this one would be the one Mito most cared to hear. A glance at her face confirmed this; her eyes were bright with interest. And then Hashirama looked down at his food again. (They weren't getting a lot of eating done, were they? It was another diplomatic lunch. His soup was cold. Mito's fish probably was, too, but Hashirama didn't know if that would even affect the flavor. He'd gone to ridiculous lengths to not have to examine the flavor of fish in-depth, nor that of any other animal. Sushi was served cold, maybe cooked fish could be too.) "He was..." What _had_ Madara been doing? "He was down by the lake."

"Oh?" Mito said. "What was he doing?"

"I don't know," Hashirama said. "Probably nothing. He was just..." He shrugged. "Staring out over the water."

Mito didn't say anything, so Hashirama attempted to elaborate. "Like he was searching for something. Or trying to remember."

He couldn't see Mito's face, but he could tell—from her shadows, from the movement of her clothes—that she had nodded slowly. (A ninja had to be able to pick up on these things.) "Reminiscing?" she offered.

"Yeah, I guess that was it." What else could he say, what else? "He... looked very... grand, out there." He shouldn't be saying this he shouldn't be, but, who else could he say it to? (And why _grand?_ What kind of a stupid word was grand? Wasn't there _any_ better word Hashirama could have used?)

"I'm sure." Mito, at least, didn't sound skeptical of Hashirama's meaning, or amused by his choice in words. "Doesn't he always, right?"

Hashirama chuckled weakly. "Yeah. I guess he does."

"What else would you expect from the most handsome man in Konoha?"

What, indeed.

"I don't think he did much else out there." Wow, this was a lame story. "Just looking out at the lake. Watching the sunset."

He figured that would be the kind of detail Mito would appreciate, and he was right. He could see her, out of the corner of his eye, leaning forward slightly, waiting for more. "Oh?" Of course she was waiting for more, considering that Hashirama had given her _nothing_.

That was all he could think of to say, without saying too much. What else could he say? It was a simple scene (a boring scene), but... "It just... struck me, somehow."

"How so?"

What did he say, what did he... "He looked so beautiful."

He'd said it. And it hurt so much to say. Even now. Even now, he still couldn't get Madara out of his mind entirely.

Correction: he still couldn't get Madara out of his mind at all. Madara was still in his every daydream, his every nightmare—tattooed to the back of his eyelids, so when he shut his eyes he stared into Madara's. Madara's presence coiled through his thoughts, half-suffocating his mind, leaving the scent of fire in its wake (like smoke from a midnight fire).

And Mito just nodded in agreement. She understood. She didn't criticize, didn't question. She understood entirely.

"He does, right?" She almost sounded mournful. But, of course, she didn't really. Why would she?

They didn't say much else.

But it was nice to be understood by someone else. It was nice to know that someone else could see the world the way they did.

Hashirama had said what he needed to say. As insignificant as that anecdote had been—it hardly even qualified as an anecdote—it was what Hashirama had needed to get out. Please, see the same Madara he had seen, please, see Madara the same way. Please don't leave Hashirama alone with his vision. What Madara was doing or saying wasn't as important as the things like that, the moments when he stood alone on the edge of a lake, the color of the sunset in his eyes, the color of his eyes in the sunset.

Hashirama wasn't proud, but he _needed_ this. To cope with the knowledge that Madara would always be as untouchable as smoke, he needed this.

(As it happened, so did Mito.)

xxx

Of course, everybody today knows who he chose. His little brother. Senju Tobirama.

He didn't want to.

Of course he didn't. He wanted to choose his co-founder, his perfect enemy, his eternal rival, his nemesis, his counterpart. Of course.

But he didn't.

It would be the worst mistake he'd make in his life.

xxx

Hashirama tried to find somebody else to choose as Hokage. He really did. But his mind kept coming back to Madara. As it always did.

Who else? Who else could possibly run Konoha? Madara knew the village inside and out—even if he denied having any part in founding it, he had been involved with the whole process, more involved than anybody else. He knew everything about Konoha. And he had done well enough in the duties Hashirama had given him, hadn't he? Exceedingly well. Better than Hashirama himself, at times.

And excluding Hashirama, Madara was without a doubt the strongest ninja in Konoha, perhaps in the world. (Hashirama thought he was, at least.) Madara had never lost a battle—except to Hashirama, but since Hashirama was hardly a candidate for Nidaime Hokage that didn't matter. Konoha needed a powerful leader, to lend his strength to the village, to fight for it. And who could do that better than Uchiha Madara?

Besides, besides, didn't Hashirama... owe it to him, to choose him? Madara ran the Uchiha clan, it only made sense that if the Senju clan had a representative running Konoha first, then the Uchiha clan should go next.

And in any case, it was only right, considering that Madara hadn't even really wanted to be part of Konoha in the first place. Hashirama was in debt to him for agreeing to form the village. Since Madara had already shown an interest in being named as the next Hokage, this was the least Hashirama could do to pay him back. Wasn't it?

Plus, what would Madara think of Hashirama _then_, if he named him as his successor? What kind of message would that send, to say, "Someday I am going to step down from this position, if I don't die first. And when I do, I am entrusting you with Konoha's leadership"? He knew that Madara still regarded him with distrust, still gazed at him as though... as though there was something in Hashirama's eyes he didn't like, something that made him suspicious. It was possible, he supposed, that even after all these years, Madara still feared that Hashirama had been trying to take over his clan. This would destroy his doubts forever, wouldn't it? This would get rid of Madara's only reason for disliking him, wouldn't it? And then maybe Madara could actually look at him like a friend, couldn't he?

But...

But.

What kind of a justification was that—_that_—for choosing a _Hokage_?

What was _wrong_ with Hashirama.

He was not a fool. He was not a lovesick child. He may have been a man of dreams, but now he was lucid dreaming and knew that reality had nothing to do with his fantasies.

He could not choose the leader of a _village_—a _military_ village—a _highly dangerous, armed_ military village—based on the fact that his heart would just go all aflutter if the selected successor smiled at him.

That

is not

how to choose a Hokage.

And Hashirama knew that. He _knew_ that.

Besides... he knew (or thought he knew) what people would say if he chose Madara.

"Favoritism."

It was favoritism to choose Madara. Hashirama knew better than anyone else could—wouldn't he just be choosing Madara because of his eyes, his smile? Because of Hashirama's dreams? Pure, blatant favoritism. Based not on objective evidence, not on who was best for the job, but on who he _liked_ most.

And it would be so, so obvious. He had tried, he had tried, he had tried to act like he _didn't_ think that much about Madara, he had tried to act like he thought of him as just another shinobi, and maybe he had succeeded, maybe he hadn't—but even if he had, even if they (the amorphous "they," not a known entity but merely a din of accusatory whispers) didn't suspect anything, what if they started to? "Why did Hokage-sama choose Madara-san, anyway?" "That's a good question. I'd never really noticed, but he does give Madara-san a lot of preferential treatment, doesn't he..."

What if the village figured it out?

What if Madara figured it out?

Oh, if he gave Hashirama dark looks now, if he gave him suspicious looks already, how would he look at Hashirama if he knew that he'd only won the title of Nidaime Hokage because Hashirama couldn't control his wet dreams? And he would figure it out, Hashirama was _sure_ he would figure it out.

Madara was brilliant, after all; he had proven that on the battlefield, and he had proven it again in the work he did in Konoha. He had already begun treating Hashirama even more skeptically, lately—since Hashirama's own revelation. Perhaps he was starting to figure out what Hashirama had only just figured out about himself. Perhaps he had been figuring it out all along, and Hashirama hadn't even noticed.

So here is Hashirama, in his office. Sending increasingly formal responses to each of the daimyo's increasingly peeved queries. Saying he needs just a little more time, just a little more, a little more, more. When he isn't giving orders, reading reports, signing orders, he is pacing, wondering, panicking. When he _is_ giving orders, reading reports, signing orders, always in the back of his mind, he is thinking, thinking.

Here is Hashirama, lying awake at night, or pacing in the dark, lost. Telling himself that Madara could make a wonderful Hokage, that he would be better than any other man in the village. Telling himself that he is only telling himself that Madara's the best because he wants it to be true. Knowing that his view of Madara is as far from objective as it could possibly be. Knowing that he will never know whether the Madara of his dreams is related to the Madara of reality.

He wanted to choose Madara. More than anything else in the world, he wanted to choose Madara.

That was why he couldn't.

xxx

Tobirama asked daily, why should today be any different? "So, made the Hokage choice official yet?"

Hashirama shot him a dark look, then turned his attention back to the mission report he was _trying_ to read. As if he wasn't distracted enough already. "Congratulations on your successful mission," he said, pointedly ignoring the question. "Holding back twenty assassins. Very impressive, particularly considering the environment." Tobirama and Sarutobi Sasuke had been sent to escort the Land of Rivers' daimyo to a meeting with the Land of Wind's daimyo, which meant Tobirama had needed to use his water techniques against a large group of enemies in the desert. Based on the reports, he had done quite well. "Although, considering that you _were_ in the presence of a daimyo, I think you could have found a more dignified way to deal with the assassins than flinging feces at them?"

Tobirama raised his hands defensively. "Hey, don't look at me like I did it. Sasuke-san's the one with the monkey summons."

Sure, but Hashirama wouldn't have been surprised if Tobirama had encouraged him.

"And don't change the topic," Tobirama said. "How soon are you going to name the Nidaime? We need another excuse to have a party around here, you know." He grinned wickedly. "Are you actually going to join in properly this time, prude?"

"I hope not." If he did join in, it would mean that he'd rather not remember what had happened that day. "I think I'm partied out for the next few years, thanks."

Tobirama laughed. "Hashirama, you were by yourself, it was less than two bottles, and that was months ago." (How quickly he forgot how worried he'd been at the time.) "You can afford to show up to the celebration in honor of your own successor," he said. "So when's it going to be?"

Hashirama sighed heavily, running his fingers through his hair. (And catching on knots. His hair was too long. He knew he should cut it, but somehow he couldn't.) "As soon as I figure out _who_ it's going to be."

"You mean you don't know?" Tobirama raised his eyebrows. "Really? I thought you were just... well, taking your time on the announcement? So it wouldn't look like you hadn't thought it over? Or finishing writing your speech or something?" He seemed genuinely baffled.

Hashirama shook his head.

"Huh. I thought you were choosing Madara." He said it like it was a given fact.

Hashirama flinched like he'd been slapped. "I never said that!" Don't panic _calm down_. Deep breath. "Why... do you say that?"

Tobirama hesitated. "Uh. Well, because..." (What was up with Hashirama? It was probably the stress of the selection process, but... Tobirama hadn't expected this. He'd thought the actual decision had been made weeks, months ago. Everybody did. Heck, he and Sasuke had spent the entire trip home from the Land of Wind trying to imagine what it was going to be like taking orders from Madara and cracking jokes about how the Hokage robes would compliment his eyes. And now "Why do you say that?" How was Hashirama expecting Tobirama to answer? It wasn't like he needed to list Madara's merits, Hashirama of all people knew them already.) "Everyone knows you... like the guy a lot, right?"

(Because that was the most important thing, in Tobirama's mind. In the Senju clan, at least, leaders were chosen based on whom the previous leader liked the most—his favorite, his protege, the one he had picked and groomed to be the next leader. Shouldn't the Hokage choose his successor the same way?)

Unsurprisingly, Tobirama's words struck terror into Hashirama's heart.

Was it that obvious, what he thought of Madara? _Everyone_ knew? How much did they "know" and how much did they just suspect? Before he could stop and think over the statement, he blurted out, "Actually I'm considering several options."

"Oh?" Tobirama tried to chuckle, but he looked puzzled. "Well... good." (In Hashirama's mind: "Why does he look so puzzled? Was I not convincing enough? Did I say something wrong, is he figuring out what I'm really thinking...?" In Tobirama's mind: "Why is he beating around the bush? Everybody knows it's going to be Madara.")

"Tobirama, what do _you_ think of Madara-sama?" Because Hashirama could not think about Madara, not without confusing dream and reality, not without losing his mind. He was desperate now. He needed somebody else to tell him what to think. Somebody, anybody. He had never realized before how alone he was in his mind. Alone with his smoke and branches and parasites.

"Me?" Tobirama stared blankly at Hashirama. "Uh..."

He would never know that his answer would forever change Konoha's future.

"I guess... well. You know I've never liked him much. But I know how highly you think of him, so..."

What Tobirama left unsaid: _so, maybe I should change my opinion of him._

What Hashirama thought he heard: _so, maybe you should change your opinion of him._

That ended everything. No matter how desperately he wanted to, Hashirama would not name Madara the Nidaime Hokage.

So who was he going to choose? Hell, who _could_ he choose? That had been his only option. There was nobody in the world like Madara.

Hashirama had tried. He honestly couldn't think of anybody else with any experience running the village, much less anybody nearly as powerful as Madara. Hashirama had never even let anybody else perform any Hokage duties for him...

Except for Tobirama. Hadn't Tobirama covered for him, once?

And, and, come to think of it, Tobirama was pretty strong, wasn't he? Well, obviously, _obviously_, why did Hashirama even need to ask. He'd trained with Tobirama, he'd fought alongside Tobirama since they were children, he knew damn well Tobirama was strong. And these days he could use Water Release in the middle of the desert, that alone said something, and it also said he was even stronger than Hashirama had remembered. So yes. He was strong. Sure, he... wasn't exactly Madara, but... but wasn't that a good thing?

Hashirama couldn't choose him, he was his own _brother_, but, but, but... but... well, why not? Why not! Hashirama had no other options! Tobirama was competent, and he wasn't Madara. That was enough! At least for now. Just so that Hashirama would have an _option_.

Of course it wasn't a done deal, but just to toss the possibility out, he said, "How would _you_ feel about being the next Hokage?"

Tobirama stared at him. For a long, long moment. He cleared his throat. "Me? I..." He shrugged helplessly. "I... sure, yeah. If you wanted me to be...?"

Hashirama nodded, with much more decisiveness than he felt. "Good." Good?

Yeah, Hashirama didn't even know what had just happened. He... thought he had just made Tobirama a candidate, but... But wait, had that... sounded too official? He wasn't saying he _was_ choosing Tobirama, he just...

Tobirama looked rather stunned. Hashirama _felt_ rather stunned. So he said, "I'd better get back to... uh... work." Right, like he was going to be able to focus on a mission report.

"Yeah, I'll let you do that. I'll, uh... see you later, then." He left Hashirama's office, without another word.

That was the last time Tobirama asked how soon Hashirama would be choosing the Nidaime Hokage.

xxxxx


	16. Hits the Fan: Year Five

A/N: I promised somebody that a certain scene would be in this chapter. I apologize to this person, because I miscounted the chapters and that scene is actually next chapter. (And I'll reply to your PM soon.)

I apologize for the goofiness of this chapter title. I've been thinking of this as the "crap hits the fan" chapter for a long time, and then I realized, hey! Fans, Uchiha! That's... that's really the only justification I have.

If the editing is bad this chapter, it's because there were people talking to me. The whole time.

The angry rant is supposed to sound nonsensical and incoherent, so no worries there.

xxxxx

_Hits the Fan_

xxx

And in the end...

No matter how hard he tried, he could think of nobody else. Nobody. The only person who came to mind was Madara. He was the only possibility Hashirama could imagine.

Which meant the only candidates for Nidaime Hokage were Uchiha Madara (by virtue of being Madara), and Senju Tobirama (by virtue of being _not_ Madara).

It was the most difficult choice of Hashirama's life.

But anyone who has gotten this far should know damn well how this one ends.

It ends with Hashirama feeling terrified. Terrified of accusations. Of having the villagers accuse him of favoritism toward Madara, of having them start to wonder what it meant. Of the possibility that Madara might figure it out. Of being seen as nothing more than a man of dreams.

And so, after all his concerns about doing the right thing for Konoha—after all his resolutions to base his decision on the candidates' capabilities, rather than on his own emotions—Hashirama did not base his choice of Nidaime Hokage on merit. He based it on fear of personal scandal.

Nobody said the Shodai was flawless.

Actually, quite a few people did. They were extraordinarily wrong.

When the daimyo's patience was just about to snap, Hashirama finally sent him a letter, informing him that he had selected his successor, and would announce him publicly the next morning in Konohagakure. He spent the rest of the day feeling hollow and terrified and jittery.

All he could think about was how Madara's eyes would look when he heard the news.

But it was too late to reconsider. He couldn't. He _couldn't_. And he feared he would see Madara's gaze in his dreams that night.

Well into the afternoon but long before evening, Hashirama finally gave up trying to continue work, snuck somebody's bottle of sake out of the Hokage Residence's break room, told the guards who'd have the night shift that he didn't want to be bothered until morning, locked himself in his room, and got smashed.

He meant to drink about half the bottle. He downed the whole thing. Luckily, unlike his first experiment with alcoholic self-medication, he didn't black out. He just conked out.

This time around, he wasn't quite as drunk. Consequently, he wasn't quite as hung over the next morning.

Being a ninja, he was completely capable of hiding his discomfort as he stood before his village in the bright, bright sunlight (thank goodness for the wide hat that went with his Hokage robes), and announced the name of the Nidaime Hokage.

Being a ninja, he was easily able to resist the urge to flinch when his eardrums were attacked by a village's worth of startled gasps, confused murmurs, and exuberant cheers.

Being a ninja, he was just barely able to make his queasy way to his office, lock the door, and lay his head down on his desk, before he began quietly crying into his arms.

He didn't even know why he was crying.

Maybe he'd just stay in there the whole day. The village didn't need him today, it could go bother Tobirama if it wanted something. He'd just wait for the day to be over. He'd barely woken up and he was already exhausted.

So. He'd stay in his office, door locked. Feeling nauseous and drained and miserable. He'd done his part. He'd done what he had to do.

He was finished.

He had been in his office for less than an hour when the door was smashed in by Uchiha Madara.

xxx

Hashirama barely had time to sit up before Madara was towering over him, teeth bared, Mangekyou on, and snarling, "This—is—FAVORITISM!"

What? _What?_ For a moment, a horror-stricken moment, Hashirama was sure he had given the wrong name—that when he had been called upon to name the Nidaime Hokage, he had opened his mouth and without even thinking without even hearing had named Madara instead of Tobirama, and Madara had figured out what it meant, figured it out too fast...

And then he realized what Madara meant. Oh. Oh, no. What had he done?

He sat in a cold, wretched silence, not even reacting except to occasionally wince, as Madara verbally tore him a new one. As follows.

"How dare you, Senju Hashirama! Who the hell do you think you are, treating Uchiha Madara-sama like this? Like you think I'm your clan's obedient _lapdog_! Who do you think you're dealing with? _I_ am the leader of the strongest clan in the world! I am the reason your ludicrous little village is still standing! I am the reason it exists in the first place! And _this is how you repay me?_ And—and—you—GO TO HELL!

"You _promised_, Senju! That's the _only_ reason I stayed! Because you_ promised_ I'd be the next Hokage. I have a _clan_ to look out for—a clan I'm actually _related_ to, something I'm sure _you_ know nothing about! _My clan_ means more to me than anything has ever meant to you in your life—and you use that _against_ me? And you said you were fighting for _peace_, you... _TRAITOR!_ You thought _love_ would save the world! _This_ is why only those with power will ever win in the world. _This_ is why love will never triumph! Because people like _you_ exist, Senju, you..._you—_And you choose your _brother!_ Your own BROTHER!

"Do you expect me to still believe you meant anything you said to me? Anything about peace? And, and hope and teamwork? And cooperation, and alliances and, and love and—and—_bullshit_! I can't believe that I was a big enough idiot to _ever_ trust you. I am never making that mistake again, Senju!

"I mean, you... choosing your _brother_ for Hokage! _Why?_ Let's forget your treachery for a moment, shall we—you've just doomed your own village by choosing him over Uchiha Madara-sama! Maybe you didn't _notice_ but I have been running this village of yours for _three years!_ What does that _other_ Senju that qualifies him to lead this village? Other than the fact that he's related to you! And you aren't even _related_! And you have the _gall_ to _look at me_ like you don't know what I'm talking about. Do you think I'm a moron, Senju? Do you think I can't see you for what you are? I am an _Uchiha!_ I know what I see! You aren't even half a decade into this wretched village and already it's, it's... _rotten_ with corruption and nepotism, and it's because of _you!_

"And I... I almost... I believed in you! I almost trusted you, Senju. I almost thought that you were going to, that, that you could actually... I cannot believe myself. I am a complete... failure.

"Since when could an Uchiha trust a _Senju?_ Never. It has never been that way, and it never WILL be that way. So thank you for NOTHING, Senju! Thank you for the lies, and the manipulation, and thank you for the, the enslavement, and—you! You have _enslaved_ my clan, did you know that? Of course you did. You are going to _kill_ my clan and that is EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED ALL ALONG! DON'T YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! I CAN'T BELIEVE I BELIEVED IN YOU! Damn you, Senju, you're just—just—I... I don't even _know_! After everything you said how could you _do this?_

"_Everybody knew_ I was going to be the Nidaime Hokage—_we had a deal_! And _you promised me_, Senju! You PROMISED me! _How could you go back on that?_

"I don't know why I had any faith in you. After all of the, all of my—Senju, do you know how many of my family members you've killed? Not just your _clan_, but _you,_ Senju! You have _slaughtered_ us—how could I even think about trusting you! You're a _monster_. You're lower than a monster—you're a demon! It's no wonder you can capture the tailed beasts, you're more closely related to them than you are to your own clan! At least _some_ Senju have honor! At least some of them _admit_ to their enemies that they're enemies! All a demon knows is malice and, and vengeance and malevolence and sadism and TREACHERY!

"I thought that you were better than that. _I thought that you were better than ME, Senju!_ And I was wrong.

"Fuck you, Senju. When you die, in your next life, I hope your fate will be to suffer what I've suffered—to be the tool of your worst enemy, to be _used_ to destroy what's most precious to you, and not even know it. I hope your fate will be to suffer what _my_ clan will suffer—to die a hundred thousand times over. If you suffer even a _thousandth_ of the punishment you deserve, you won't know peace until the end of the world. And maybe then you'll realize what you've done.

"What was the point of it all? What was the point of pretending that you would choose me? Everything you said, everything you did, just—_everything _about you said that it was going to be _Uchiha Madara-sama_! I was going to be the Nidaime Hokage!

"And you lied! _Why?_ Why did you go through all that? Just to make it hurt _more_ when you revealed your true colors? Or did you think that it would make me forgive you now? Did you think I'd reconsider hating you? Or that I'd think, 'Oh! Maybe he has his reasons!'? Well you guessed _wrong_. _I am not a fool, Senju!_ I may have trusted you once, but I'm not stupid enough to make that mistake twice!

"I've seen who you really are, Senju. And I'll never forgive you for it."

That was not his entire speech. That was the first four and a half minutes. That was just how far Madara got before he had to stop and take a breath—Hashirama honestly didn't notice him taking a single breath before then.

However, Madara hadn't needed to say anything beyond his first sentence. As soon as Hashirama figured out what he meant, everything else became irrelevant. There was nothing Madara could say to hurt Hashirama more.

He was a monster.

From the beginning, over and over; to every clan, a thousand times over; he had sworn: it wasn't his intent to take over any of their clans, he didn't want to rule them he didn't want to subjugate them—he just wanted them to come together, he just wanted peace, all he wanted was peace, that was all, that was all that was all. He just wanted to save everyone. He wanted to save his allies and his friends and his family and his clan and the other clans and the whole world and his enemy (his beloved). He didn't want to rule _anything_. He didn't want to control _anyone_.

And what had he done? What had he done? Bad enough that he had accepted this leadership position, but what had he done _then_? He had betrayed the Uchiha clan, the clan with which he had founded this village. He hadn't wanted the Senju clan to take over, he never had, and then—and then, he chose his brother as the Nidaime Hokage?

What was _wrong_ with him?

What kind of precedent had he set? Had he turned his own clan into the sole ruling class of Konoha? Would there never be a Hokage outside of the Senju clan? Would there never be a Hokage from the Uchiha clan?

Hashirama could have chosen one. He could have done that today—he could have ensured that the Nidaime Hokage would have been an Uchiha. But Tobirama—would Tobirama ever choose an Uchiha as his successor? Never. Would anyone that Tobirama chose ever choose an Uchiha? Hashirama could have chosen one. And he hadn't.

And... had he really, had he really promised to Madara that he would be the next Hokage? He didn't remember making that promise, he thought he would have remembered if he had, but maybe he had... Hell there were times where he knew that if Madara had asked him to he _would_ have promised! How could he do this to Madara?

Madara was still raging, somehow still managing to grow more contemptuous and less coherent with every sentence. Hashirama bore it all in cold, wretched silence, because he knew everything Madara said was true.

And suddenly Madara stopped, moved to a wall so quickly it was almost as though he had teleported, and turned so he could see (or defend himself against) both Hashirama and the doorway. Even with his back to the door, somehow, Madara had noticed Tobirama before Hashirama did.

Tobirama tensed, watching Madara warily. Madara glared at both Tobirama and Hashirama, his gaze darting back and forth, his Mangekyou Sharingan slowly spinning. His (beautiful, beautiful) eyes were bright with sheer hatred—and there was no other word for it, Hashirama could no longer pretend it was anything else. He couldn't tell himself that he was misinterpreting Madara's expression, he couldn't ignore the obvious. Uchiha Madara hated him.

There was a hard, calculating look in Madara's eyes, like he was flipping a coin in his mind. If it had come up heads, he would have gone down in history as the first person make an assassination attempt on two Kage at once.

Instead, without saying a word, he left. He carefully slid past Tobirama so that not even their clothes touched. Then he was gone, muttering under his breath as he descended.

Tobirama turned to watch him go, shook his head, and then picked up Hashirama's office door and tried to prop it back into place. "I heard that coming all the way up the stairs." He stepped back from the door, satisfied that it would stay. "You must have the patience of the Sage to put up with... hey, are you all right?"

Couldn't Tobirama let him sob into his arms again in peace? Or maybe slit his throat? He didn't say anything. He couldn't speak. He held it in, that was the most he could do.

Tobirama grabbed a chair and pulled it behind the desk so he could sit down next to Hashirama. And didn't say anything.

After a moment, he asked, reluctantly, "Having regrets?"

Yes. Yes. Oh, yes, he was.

But what could he say? He already knew, he couldn't say anything. He _couldn't_ have regrets. From the moment Madara had come in screaming "_favoritism!_" Hashirama had been thinking, oh, please, is there any way out of this?

There wasn't. In his entire time as Hokage, this was the most important announcement Hashirama had ever made. What would it say if he now went, "Oh, sorry, never mind, I guess it'll be Madara after all"? Even if he did that, it would dangerously undermine Madara's authority. This would be the situation: Hashirama _didn't_ name Madara as Hokage, but then Madara came by Hashirama's office, threw a hissy-fit, and Hashirama changed his mind just like that?

That would make Hashirama—the Shodai Hokage—look like a weak-willed waffler who could be persuaded to change his mind on any issue by any jerk's temper tantrum, and Madara—the Nidaime Hokage—would look like a hot-tempered spoiled brat who got his way by shouting and whining until he won. Both the Shodai _and_ the Nidaime would look very, very bad. Their reputations would be destroyed in the eyes of their villagers (who looked up to them) and in the eyes of other ninja villages. It would harm the internal unity and the international image of Konoha for... who knew how long? Possibly as long as Madara was Hokage. Possibly even longer.

It was too late. No matter the consequences of Hashirama's having chosen Tobirama as Hokage, they would have to be borne. Hashirama wasn't allowed to change his mind.

Besides. What kind of a brother would that make him? What kind of a brother would he be, if he named Tobirama as his successor and then said, "Oh, sorry, never mind, I guess I don't trust you enough to let you run Konoha"?

And for that reason—not for politics, but for family—he couldn't even share his fears with his brother. What would that do to Tobirama, if he went into the office of Hokage thinking that his big brother didn't have faith in him? What would it do to him if he knew that the only reason he was chosen was because Hashirama hadn't wanted to choose Madara—Madara, who was truly the best and only choice for the job? Hell, being the Hokage was a hard enough job as it was, Tobirama had to know (or think) that he had Hashirama's full support.

Tobirama was the one reliable confidant Hashirama had in his life. On everything except for his... his feelings, about Madara. Now, he would never have the possibility of sharing those thoughts.

So Hashirama shook his head. "No," he said. "No, of course I don't have any regrets." He couldn't look at Tobirama. "I just... I wish Madara-sama hadn't reacted like that. That's all."

"Yeah..." Tobirama sighed. "Was he this sore a loser when you were named Hokage?"

"No. Not really." Not at all. When Hashirama became Hokage, Madara hadn't screamed at him. He'd barely even spoken to him. (He _did_ hate him, after all.) But, then again, he had thought then that he would be selected to lead Konoha next.

"Ah, well..." Tobirama scooted closer to Hashirama and slung an arm over his shoulder. He sounded too cheerful. "He'll get over it, right?"

No, he wouldn't. He never would.

"Anyway, Sasuke-san told me that, uh, my party's starting at four, and if I'm not there on time, they're throwing away all my snacks. And they're going to have _grilled eel_." Tobirama loved grilled eel.

"Well, then. I guess you can afford to be fashionably late." Somewhere, some part of him was dully surprised that he'd managed to make a joke. Hashirama knew Tobirama loved grilled eel. Hashirama didn't eat meat.

Tobirama snorted. "If you don't show up on time, I'll save some for you." Tobirama knew Hashirama didn't eat meat. "Really, Hashirama. I'm going to be there; you should be there, too. At least for a little bit? This is a big deal for me, you know. Being named a Hokage. By you."

"I know, I know." Hashirama didn't like parties, but... "All right. I'll be there." He didn't want to celebrate. But he needed some way to forget today had happened.

"Great! I'll try not to let you get too bored. It's going to be at the Sarutobi complex, but if things go right it'll involve half the other complexes by sundown."

"Oh. Really?"

"Hey, it'll be easy. Sasuke-san's got a plan. The Sarutobi complex is next to the Akimichi complex, if we keep the snacks near the front gate that'll automatically lure them in, and once we get the Akimichi clan we'll have the Nara clan by default, and the Nara clan will bring in the Yamanaka clan, and since the Nara clan's way on the far side of the village they'll be picking up other people as they head to join the party..."

This was the kind of tactical planning that was making Konoha the strongest military force in the world.

At least nobody would mind if Hashirama was hung over in the morning. He'd be in good company.

"Try to get there fairly early, all right?" Tobirama said, standing to go.

"Sure."

"And try to go easy on the drinks, all right?" A few months ago, that would have been a joke. Now, there was a hint of concern in Tobirama's voice.

"Sure. Don't worry about me."

A pause. "All right." And he headed for the door—well, what was left of it. "I'd stay longer, but they're already getting me to work. I don't believe it. I'm supposed to write a letter to the daimyo! I don't even remember his name!" He awkwardly pulled the door open. "But we can talk at the party, right?"

"Yeah. See you then."

"Right." Tobirama left, and carefully pulled the door shut.

(Tobirama had actually come in to try to find some way to ask Hashirama why he had been chosen. But when he'd seen the look on his face... well. It wasn't a good time.)

Tobirama left, to get to work.

Hashirama replaced his door with a solid wall of wooden vines, and buried his head in his arms.

xxxxx


	17. The After Party: Year Five

A/N: Goodness, all the votes I got for an AU spin-off with a happy ending. Well, the good news is that I was planning on doing something like that all along: Man of Dreams itself is 23 chapters, and I was going to add on a 24th omake chapter with a goofy happy story to make up for the utter misery that is the rest of this fic. (Ahaha as if anything could make up for the misery.) The better news is that I'm now going to expand it a bit to include EXTRA scenes of the non-angsty variety! Yaaay. Also, I've got half a silly one-shot written with absolutely no plot whose sole purpose is to be HashiMada fluff. Also-also, I owe Digital Skitty a drabble, and she has requested "happiness for Hashirama and Madara." (I'm still hoping for a more detailed prompt out of her because holy noodles it is hard to figure out how to make these guys happy. Miserable I can do. I've got a list twenty miles long of all the ways I can make them miserable. Many of those ideas are, believe it or not, even more miserable than _this_ fic. But happy, that is a challenge.)

So! There is a big omake chapter, a one-shot, and a drabble, all of comparatively happy HashiMada-ness, coming soon to a computer near you. Fun fun!

Now enjoy your weekly dose of suffering and agony.

xxxxx

_The After Party_

xxx

The party actually went pretty well.

In fact, in the estimation of most of the party-goers, it was probably the best freaking party Konokakagake had ever freaking had. ...Kononakahure. Konokanakane. Damn. Hey, hey, what... what the hell is the name of this place, anyway? What? Oh, okay! To Coconut-kagura! YEAH!

It was a pretty damn great party. No, no, seriously. Seriously. Even the damn Shodai-sama got wasted. Nobody even, they, they didn't even know the guy drank. It was, it was like... whoa. There he is. Shodai-sama. He's _wasted_. Somebody asked him if he could still use that, that Wood Releasy thingy when he's drunk, and he said sure, and he showed everyone.

And he made a cactus, man. It was a... it was a freaking cactus. Like... like with the, the spikes and everything. It was a freaking cactus. In the middle of the Sarutobi complex. Hell, it's probably still there. Is it still there? Huh. Wonder what happened to it. Maybe it was in the Inuzuka complex.

Hashirama had no idea how many drinks he had that evening. They came in the, the little cup, whatever, things, right? Like sake comes in. And they were freaking everywhere. It was great. They were, they were _everywhere_. And, and then, and when Tobirama asked him, how many drinks he had? He went, hey, what the hell! He had no idea! They were _tiny_, right? He could have a bajillion and it'd be, it'd be, you know, nothing.

He never had enough to drink. He never had enough, because he never forgot what he had done to Madara. But he certainly tried his hardest.

Various things Hashirama did during the party:

He approached any Uchiha who had defied Madara's orders to stay in the complex and come to the party anyway (or, any person who looked vaguely like an Uchiha); he then insisted to the Uchiha in the most heartfelt manner possible that Madara would have been a great Hokage. No, no, really, he really really would have been—but, he _wasn't_ a Hokage, but... but he would have been a great one. ... Just saying.

He got into a heated debate with a branch family Hyuuga about whether or not a "bloodline limit" could, in fact, be literally transferred via blood; this debate would have ended with them slitting their palms and drinking each other's blood in an attempt to turn into the world's first men to have both Wood Release _and_ an ocular kekkei genkai, but someone from the Shimura family passed by and pointed out that was the dumbest idea ever.

He asked a member of the Yamanaka clan if he did, indeed, have pretty hair (he was assured he did), and in return was asked if the Yamanaka had pretty hair (he assured him that he did), and after five minutes of enthusiastically agreeing about how many pretty men their village had, they passed a joint resolution declaring that henceforth the village formerly known as Kakuna-matata would be called the Village of Hunks and Babes and Hunks. It was declared by a Hokage so that made it freaking official. They wrote it on a paper and everything.

He spent another fifteen minutes spreading the news to the other partygoers and discovering that some of them took issue with the name, and then amended it to Village of Hunks and Babes and Hunks and Dogs and Bugs and Sake and Ino-Shika-Chou and Lots of Trees and Monkeys and People and Madara. Upon further reflection, Hashirama realized that this excluded Madara from being either a hunk _or_ a hunk, at which point he promptly withdrew his support for the name change. Which was fine, because everybody had forgotten what name change he was talking about, and nobody could read the scrawling on the paper anyway. Except for the meticulously drawn leaf symbol at the top. That made it _stationery_.

Hashirama didn't have any fun. But he did have a lot of drinks, which, really, was all he'd been looking for.

Around midnight, Tobirama finally told Hashirama that he'd had enough partying, and he should go back to Tobirama's place and sleep it off. (Despite the festivities in the rest of the village, the Senju complex was surprisingly quiet; that was mainly because all the Senju were outside of the complex, partying.) Hashirama asked Tobirama how many drinks _he'd_ had. Tobirama tried to remember, failed, and said he could order Hashirama to go home anyway, since Tobirama was Hokage now. Hashirama said that he'd been Hokage first, so he had more authority. Tobirama said that he was the _newer_ Hokage. Hashirama said that he was older than Tobirama. Tobirama said that he was taller than Hashirama. Hashirama would have disagreed, but Tobirama stood on his toes, and Hashirama tried to match that feat but couldn't keep his balance, so he had to surrender the point. Tobirama sent him home.

Well, fine. When he got there, Hashirama would just get into Tobirama's sake.

xxx

"Hokage-dono." That was... who the hell _was_ that?

Hashirama stopped unsteadily, squinting at the blurry figure standing before the Senju complex's gate. He didn't recognize him. Her. Him. Her? Her. Him? Huh?

Maybe he could just ignore... it. He set his jaw, looked at the ground, and tried to weave his way past the obstacle. It grabbed his shirt. "Hokage-dono!"

He shook the hand off. "What the hell d'you want?" he mumbled, turning to squint at the person. "Oh. Uh... Mito-chan." Wait, that wasn't right. "San? Sama? Uh. Uzumaki-dono. Hi." Wow, he was dizzy. "What the hell d'you want?"

Mito squinted at his face, frowning. "You're drunk, right?" It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Wait. How did that work?

He pointed vaguely at her head. "You have very big cherries in your hair." That, he thought, was a brilliant comeback. He turned around to head into the complex.

This time, Mito grabbed his arm. Wow, she had a strong grip. "_Hashirama-dono._ I need to talk to you. Now."

He thought about that. He... didn't know _why_ he was thinking about it, but... "But I'm drunk," he protested.

"You're not too drunk to answer a few questions, right?"

He tried again. "But I'm in mourning."

"_What?_"

"I don't know!" He finally gave up and turned to face her again. And this time, he managed notice her expression. She looked furious. Okay, he'd keep that in mind, she was mad at him today. Damn, _everybody_ was mad at him today. (If by "everybody" he meant "Madara and himself," but right now, those were the only two people who really mattered to him. If by "right now" he meant "always.") "What... what is it?"

"You picked your _brother?_"

Picked him for what? Oh. Why did she have to _remind_ him? "Yeah."

"You picked your _brother!_"

"Yeah?" What scattered mental facilities he had were slowly rallying to help him cope with this unexpected challenger, and it occurred to him that Mito was looking for an explanation. He did the best he could. "Look. I, uh, I, uh... I know it's a... a surprise, or—but... I, uh, thought long and hard about this, and, and he really was the best candidate, for..." That actually came out pretty well. It came out so well because that was the same justification he'd used on himself every time he'd been about to back out of naming his brother.

But apparently, it wasn't good enough. (Either that or he was too drunk to present it convincingly; more likely, both.)

"You were going to pick _Madara-sama!_"

He winced inside. (He winced outside, too.) "I... I never said that. 'Snot like I... not like I... promised him, or..."

"You may not have _said_ it but _everybody_ knew you were going to, right? _Everybody_ knew it and you _didn't!_ Why?"

To that, he had no answer, so he fell back on his self-justifications. "Look, it—it was a tough... a _really_ tough decision, but—"

"But _what?_ Madara-sama was the best man for the job, hands down. No contest! I thought _you_ knew that, you always talk about what a great man he is and how much you admire him and, and..." She inhaled sharply. "And I thought, 'Great! Great, right? So he's going to choose him!' And then you _don't choose him?_"

"I don't talk about him that much..." Sure, like he was fooling anybody.

"Why didn't you choose Madara-sama?"

"Well... Well, I..." He trailed off, because he'd forgotten where he was going with that. He then remembered: he'd had no idea where he was going.

"Well?"

"Well, he was—he was, he was one of the top candidates. All right? It, it was, really... it was really, _really_ close. And he was a top candidate. But, Tobirama, he was just the best man for the job, okay?"

"Why?" Mito snapped, taking a step closer to Hashirama, and he automatically took an unsteady step back. "What in the world does Tobirama-san have that Uchiha Madara-sama does not?"

Hashirama took way too long to answer. He had no answer. The only, single, solitary, pitiful excuse he could call up was, "The ability to... get disappointed without throwing a temper tantrum?"

He immediately knew that was the wrong thing to say. He could tell from the fury in her face and the bright gleam in her eyes. Also, from the fact that she knocked him down with a gust of wind.

Although he hadn't needed that clue. What was he _doing_? Mocking Madara's anger? That "tantrum" was entirely justified, Hashirama knew that perfectly well.

"What were you expecting!" Mito demanded, screaming at Hashirama from twenty feet away. (That... that was a... pretty good Wind Release technique, whatever the hell it was.) "After what you _did_ to that poor man! And you think he has a temper problem, right? If I were in his shoes, I would be _furious!_"

Hashirama actually managed to get back on his feet on the second try. "Okay, I'm sorry, I'm... I was... it was a, just a joke, or... or something..."

"A _joke_? You're _joking_ about what you did to him? I don't _believe_ you, you—" She stomped a few feet closer, as if she were considering attacking again, but instead decided to continue yelling. "And you think he has a _temper problem!_ Do you know who's got the problem around here?"

"Yeah." He did, he did, he knew that.

"_What?_"

Wrong answer, try again. "Who?" As if he needed her to tell him, he had the problem, didn't he?

"You! And do you know what your problem is?"

_What's wrong with you?_

That was it.

"Oh, please enlighten me!" he snapped. "I've been—I've been _trying_ to figure that one out for YEARS!"

She hesitated. "What?"

"What's wrong with me! What's wrong with me! What the _fuck_ is wrong with me! YOU tell ME, Mito-ch—san! I have been trying to figure it out for, for—whatever I don't _know_ how long I have been trying to figure it out! I have been trying to figure it out for years and you know what? _You know what!_ I don't _know_ what! You, you, tell _me_ what's wrong with me!"

"I—"

"You know what?" Hashirama went on, marching toward her in a _nearly_ straight line. He was too furious for this to end well and too drunk to give a damn. "You know what my problem is? I'll _tell_ you what my problem is, damn it! My problem is, my problem is Madara is too damn Madara for my own good, all right? My problem is I don't know how to wake up. I'm a _man of dreams!_"

He had said it.

He was empty. He had nothing more to say. He would never again have anything else to say.

Mito stared at him. And then narrowed her eyes and scrunched her face in a scowl. "What the hell does that even _mean?_"

Oh. Oh. Well. If she didn't understand, it was too late for her to find out, because Hashirama was empty and would never again have anything else to say. He shrugged helplessly.

"So... so what, you think you're some kind of a... visionary, right? Dreaming of some grand new world order? Is that it?" From the tone of Mito's voice, Hashirama got the feeling that she didn't approve. Evidently, she had never heard the phrase "man of dreams" before. He shrugged again.

"Of course that's what you'd think of yourself. Everybody wants to think the best of themselves, right? Nobody wants to think anything bad about themselves, they'll do whatever it takes to deny it." (Oh, did Hashirama understand that.) "You probably don't even KNOW what your real problem is! Do you?"

A third shrug. He had _nothing_ to say.

"You are _jealous_ of Madara-sama."

Hashirama stared at her like a moron, struggling to process that. Jealous? He had never even considered that. Jealous, of Madara? Oh, wouldn't that be a simple solution, wouldn't that be a beautiful solution, if he could say that he was, if he could fling himself at Madara's feet and tell him he was so sorry but he had just been jealous of him... But why in the world would Hashirama be jealous of Madara? (Okay, maybe he had something to say after all.) "_What?_"

"You heard me, Hashirama-dono! Madara-sama is twice the man you will ever be and _you_ know it, right? If it weren't for the fact that _you_ were the one running all around, trying to talk clans into joining Konohagakure no Sato, getting your name out there where everyone would know you—while _he_ was dealing with the death of his poor little brother—_he_ would have been the Shodai and _you know it! _You couldn't be better than him as a ninja and so you had to bring him down as a politician!"

Hashirama was self-aware enough to know that he was drunk enough to be convinced of just about anything. However, he didn't believe that for a second. "Wh... I... that's... that's just..."

"That's _it_, isn't it? You might go around giving him lip service, praising him to high heaven; but then when it's time for you to make a decision that actually _matters_, you stab him in the back."

Hashirama flinched as if he were the one being stabbed. "That's not—"

"Isn't it?" Mito jabbed a finger in his chest, almost knocking him off-balance. "Then _you_ explain it! Why do you smile and nod along whenever anybody says anything admiring about Madara-sama, but then you don't do him any favors? You're in a better position to help him out than anyone else in the world! You're the damn _Hokage,_ right? But no! You won't! You don't do a _thing_ for him! And it's because _you're jealous of him_, even if _you_ don't admit it! It's because he was supposed to be your arch-rival or some ridiculous thing like that and he was catching up to you too fast! If you hadn't decided out of _nowhere_ to make this peace treaty and start up a village with the Uchiha clan, he would have kicked you and your entire clan from here to the moon and—"

"Is THAT what you think?" Hashirama screamed, right in Mito's face. She didn't even blink. "You think! You think I—I founded this...this ENTIRE freaking village, as some great conspiracy against MADARA-SAMA? You think THAT'S what this is all about?"

"I didn't say that!" she screamed back, just as loud. "But if YOU'RE going to admit it, then—"

"You've got NO IDEA how I feel about—M-Madara..." Why had his throat caught? Maybe it was the screaming, maybe his throat was going hoarse... Calm down, deep breath, calm down...

Neither one of them could speak, for a moment. Hashirama seemed to be choked up on something and Mito seemed to have something in her eyes. Hashirama tried to focus. Tried to think of something to say. For once in his life, leaving aside what he thought of _himself_—leaving aside whether he thought he was a lunatic or a pervert or something completely different—leaving Hashirama himself completely out of his opinions... how did he feel about Madara?

When he spoke, his mind was more clear than it had been all day. Than it had been for longer than he could remember. (Of course, considering the current condition of his brain, he couldn't remember very far, but...) "There is _nobody_. In the whole world. Who wants to see Madara-sama succeed as much as I do. There is... there is nothing I would not sacrifice if I thought it would make him happy. Nothing. Yes, he _was_ my rival—and I was proud to say that I could fight at his level. And, if he surpassed me, it wouldn't reflect on me at all—it would just prove how great _he_ was. I've _never_ envied him. I only... I only want the best for him."

Mito was crying by then, her eyes squeezed shut. The absurdity of it suddenly struck Hashirama: why was _she_ crying because _Madara_ hadn't become Hokage? What difference did it make to her? It wasn't like she had any personal business with Madara... or...

No. No, it did matter, it... She cared about Madara just as much as Hashirama did, didn't she?

Mito took a deep, shuddering breath, and whispered, "That's... how you really feel about him?"

"Yeah." Oh, hell, did they feel the same way about him? "Yeah, it... it is."

She nodded. She finally opened her eyes, and looked up at Hashirama. "Then why the hell isn't _he the Nidaime Hokage!_"

"Wh...! I... You just—YOU KNOW WHAT?"

A screaming match ensued. The combatants were two feet away from each other. You wouldn't know that to hear them.

From there, the conversation went downhill.

xxx

It was amazing how a fight could sober one up.

"Fight" in more than one sense of the word. It was a verbal battle—mostly—but a fair number of emphatic statements were punctuated with ninjutsu. (Mito wasn't nearly as strong as Hashirama, but Hashirama was too drunk to see straight, so it all evened out.) As a ninja, Hashirama had acquired at least _some_ skill in resisting the debilitating effects of a mind-addling poison when in the heat of battle, and that's pretty much exactly what alcohol is.

He wasn't going to escape the hangover, but he was able to think vaguely rationally again. And sooner or later it occurred to him, quite reasonably, to wonder:

What the hell were they fighting over, anyway?

(Around that time, he was busy shouting, "How can you say you know Madara-sama? How can you... You've never even seen him in battle! Much less _fought_ him!" Mito was busy retorting, "Do you think it's all about battles? Is that all life is to you? Just—just, fight fight fight, _all_ the time, right? You're just a _weapon!_" The battle raged on even as Hashirama was processing its purpose. You can't lower your arms in the middle of a battlefield just because you've forgotten the cause for which you're fighting. Although the world might have been a little bit better if more people did.)

They were fighting over Madara. But... _why_ were they fighting over Madara? That was terribly vague, "fighting over Madara." What did that mean?

("I'm a damn _ninja_ and so is Madara-sama! That's what, it's what defines his life! How can you say you know him, and, and, without knowing anything about that part of him!")

Well, he could be mistaken, but it seemed to him like the conversation (such as it was) had devolved into an I Like Madara More Than You Do contest.

How in the world had _that_ happened? What did it matter which of them liked Madara more? Why did they care? It wasn't as though Madara even liked either of _them_—

Oh.

("Or maybe that's just what defines life to _you_, oh Hokage-dono, did you consider that? Madara-sama has a life outside the battlefield! He's a human being, too!")

He was hit with an awful epiphany.

Madara was the only thing they had in common, wasn't he? Whenever they were together, he was all they discussed. The only reason they interacted was because they could talk about Madara freely. They could praise him in front of each other without fear of being judged. He was their one shared interest, their only similarity. They both worshipped Madara. They both thought he was powerful and brilliant and beautiful.

("Of course he's a human, but he's also! A! _Ninja!_")

They were getting married to each other because they were both in love with Madara.

("What, are ninja and humans different creatures? You're a ninja too, Hashirama-san! Or are you trying to say something about yourself!")

He wondered if Mito had any idea.

("Fine! You, you think you know him so well _off_ the battlefield? What the hell do you know about him that I don't, Mito-chan? What have _you_ figured out about him, from a, from a, a handful of diplomatic missions where you barely even spoke to him? What—can you—have possibly seen in him that I don't see almost every freaking day at work?")

He wondered what would happen if he told her.

("So it's about work again, right? You don't even know how to relate to people outside of being a ninja, do you! Madara-sama's got a life outside of that, even if _you_ don't! He's got a family!")

What were they doing to themselves?

("The _hell?_ He's not even married!")

("He's got his clan!")

To each other?

("_I've_ got a clan! You're about to _marry_ into my clan!")

("And what's so special about your clan?")

("What—It's related to _your_ clan!")

What the hell were they fighting over, anyway?

("But the Uchiha clan respects family! You know that! And Madara-sama had a little brother!")

("So what? _I've_ got a little brother!")

("Why are you bringing Tobirama-san into this? We're talking about _Madara-sama!_")

And the conversation continued to go downhill.

("I didn't bring him into this, _you_ did!")

("No I didn't!")

("Yes you did!")

Or, more accurately, it ran out of hill to go down, and just fell off a cliff.

xxx

They ran out of energy about half past one in the morning.

Mito collapsed to her knees in middle of the street, buried her face in her hands, and began quietly sobbing.

Hashirama collapsed to his knees at the edge of the street, buried his face in some shrubs, and began quietly puking.

Their upcoming marriage would last until Hashirama's death some thirty-odd years later. Anyone who looked at them would describe them as the very image of a perfect couple. Anyone who asked them would be assured that they were _very_ happy together. Of course they were. They would live long enough to become grandparents. After Hashirama's death, Mito would always say that he had been a wonderful, _wonderful_ husband.

In over thirty years of marriage, they would never discuss anything that had happened the night after Tobirama was chosen Nidaime Hokage.

xxxxx


	18. Open Your Eyes: Year Five

A/N: I'd like to let everybody know right now that THIS IS NOT THE END. I repeat:

**THIS IS **_**NOT**_** THE END OF THE FIC.**

**IT DOES **_**NOT**_** END NEXT CHAPTER, EITHER.**

Because from a lot of the reviews, it seems like a lot of folks are assuming it will end with the Valley of the End battle. And no, it won't. So, again: **this fic is 23 chapters, plus a 24th omake chapter**.

Man, got the chapter up early this week. I'm proud. I'm posting this during the middle of the world's most useless class...

Hope you enjoy the agony, and please do review!

xxxxx

_Open Your Eyes_

xxx

He didn't see Madara again for days.

Madara had retreated into the Uchiha complex, after issuing strict orders to the guards. Absolutely nobody outside the clan was allowed inside the complex, including that _Senju_ and his supposed brother.

It was a bold move, bordering on outright rebellion. What right had a mere clan leader to prohibit the two Hokage from going somewhere?

Hashirama didn't push it. He didn't want a confrontation, they didn't need a confrontation. Tobirama wanted to push it. However, when they were both sober again, they agreed that Hashirama (as the older, more experienced, and taller Hokage) had final word on all decisions, at least until he formally stepped down and transferred power to Tobirama. But it was generally believed that such a transfer wouldn't happen for a long time—not until Hashirama's death.

Plus, Hashirama couldn't deal with the Uchiha. He had to deal with his own issues.

He spent most of the day after the party in Tobirama's house, recovering from his hangover. Tobirama (who had a bit of a hangover of his own, although not nearly as bad) filled in for him at the Hokage Residence. Tobirama informed anybody who asked that he'd requested permission to act alone as Hokage that day. He said he wanted to start getting used to his new duties. He said no, of course there was nothing wrong with Hashirama.

The day after that, Hashirama was back in his office, responding to a slew of new messages, most of them regarding the Nidaime Hokage selection. (Only one message never reached him, a notice from the Land of Rice Fields that the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox had changed its course: it had suddenly abandoned its eastward journey, heading toward the Land of Lightning, and turned south. It was now on the verge of crossing the border into the Land of Fire. This message arrived by hawk at the Hokage Residence; although nobody saw Madara leave the Uchiha complex, somehow, he was the only person to read the message. Which was a waste, really, since he already knew about the Kyuubi's movements.)

And on Hashirama's first day back, Mito visited him.

When she entered, she only glanced up long enough to see if Hashirama was there. The moment their gazes met, she dropped hers. "May I...?"

Oh. Hashirama didn't know what he going to say to her. He didn't even remember everything he'd said to her that night. "Please. Come in," he said, standing up.

She shuffled reluctantly into the room, eyes on the ground. Hell, what _could_ he say to her? After the way he had acted. "Uzumaki-dono, I..."

"Hokage-dono—" She cut herself off. "Oh. You..."

"Sorry. Go ahead."

She looked like she wished he'd gone first. (If he'd had any idea what to say, maybe he would have.) "Hokage-dono, I wanted..." She suddenly stopped, and bowed deeply. "I sincerely apologize for my actions two nights ago. My behavior was... was..."

"Completely unacceptable?" Hashirama offered. She looked up at him in shock, he grimaced at himself. "No, I'm sorry, I don't mean _you_, I mean... _I_ was. My behavior was unacceptable. You aren't the one who should be apologizing. There is no excuse for the way I treated you, and _I_ apologize for _my_ actions." Should he bow, too? But the desk was in his way.

"Oh, no, it's... it's fine, I mean, you were... inebriated at the time—"

"I shouldn't have been, and that doesn't change the things I said—"

"You were at a celebration for your brother and it was past midnight, right? I should have known better than to bother you—"

"The way I spoke to you would have been wrong at any time—"

"But I was wrong in the first place to question your judgment—"

"If nobody questioned my judgment, I would become a tyrant."

Mito looked taken aback, but then she barely smiled. It was more like a grimace. "Wise words, Hokage-dono."

"I wish my actions were half as wise."

"Well..." She seemed to have no more to say than that.

After a moment, she turned to leave. Hashirama sat down again, feeling let down by the exchange. Mito stopped at the door (or, rather, the folding screen temporarily serving as one), and said, "Hashirama-san?"

If she was calling him that, then she was speaking to him not as the Uzumaki ambassador to Konohagakure, but as his future wife. (The very thought—Mito as his wife—nearly made him nauseous. He wondered if the thought of having him as a husband made her nauseous.) "Yes, Mito-san?"

"Please pass on my... congratulations, to your brother." She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

Hashirama didn't look up at her. "I'll do that."

"Thank you."

He was informed later that day that Uzumaki Mito had started the return journey to Uzushiogakure no Sato, in order to report to the Uzukage and to prepare to attend the inauguration of the Nidaime Hokage.

And he survived. For the next five days, he survived.

Madara remained hidden. Tobirama familiarized himself with how the village was run. The daimyo sent a letter to Tobirama congratulating him on his appointment and a letter to Hashirama praising him for his wise selection (but what did the daimyo know, he had inherited his position when his elder brother had died). And Hashirama existed as well as he could, in the shadow of his betrayal of Madara.

Konoha was adjusting itself to the announcement, already learning to look to Tobirama as one of its leaders, already forgetting that Madara had ever been the presumed successor. For Hashirama, nothing changed. And a week had passed since Tobirama's selection.

Then the Uchiha clan exploded.

Within an hour: Madara snapped, appeared from nowhere in the middle of the Senju complex, declared his undying wrath and enmity toward the Senju clan, appeared almost simultaneously in the Uchiha complex, tried to incite his fellow clansmen to revolt, failed, was declared a power-greedy fratricidal lunatic, found himself hastily disowned by his own clan, appeared moments later at the Hokage Residence to throw his forehead protector in the dirt and declare that he would wreak vengeance both for _and_ on the Uchiha clan, and wildly dashed off to the north.

Where he promptly captured the Nine-Freaking-Tailed Demon Fox.

xxx

"We should have stormed the complex and stopped him a _week_ ago!" That was Tobirama.

No words. That was Hashirama.

"We could have prevented this. If there'd been any signs that he'd been about to run, we could have arrested him right then. If we'd slapped a _blindfold_ on him, he'd have been helpless. But no! Now he's got the damn _Kyuubi!_ And you know where he's headed next, he's going to be coming right back here with it—Hashirama! Are you even listening?"

Hashirama was pulling out his armor. The uniform he'd worn in battle, before Konoha. He hadn't worn it since he and Madara had shaken hands and formalized their alliance. For a while, he'd thought that maybe he'd never wear it again.

He thought about what he was doing so he wouldn't have to think about what he was going to do.

"Why didn't we stop him, Hashirama?" Tobirama demanded. "We knew something was wrong! When a guy as—as meddlesome as _Madara_ goes into hiding for a week, he's up to something! You know that! I know that! Why didn't we—why didn't you acknowledge it?"

Hashirama wasn't answering, he was putting on his armor and searching for his other weapons. He had a big sword stockpile. Meaning both "a big stockpile of swords" and "a stockpile of big swords." He may as well bring all of them, he didn't know what to expect. He pulled out a blank scroll and a brush, and started sealing away the swords for summoning later. (He was using seals developed by the Uzumaki clan, he realized. Mito... she hadn't heard yet, had she?)

"He was a traitor in the making, from the very start!" Tobirama followed Hashirama down the hall as he headed to another storage room. He had another scroll there, with more seals from the Uzumaki clan; it had been prepared to help tame the Kyuubi. How fortunate. He wondered where the scroll was stashed. "_You_ gave him too much power, even though it was obvious that wouldn't satisfy him! You should have insisted he step down as Uchiha clan leader before joining Konoha, the rest of the Uchiha clan would have agreed to that, we could have gotten him out of the way at the very beginning! Why did you trust him?"

There it was. Hashirama lifted up the scroll—it was almost too big for him to get his arms around. That made for two huge scrolls he'd be hauling all the way across the Land of Fire. Was it possible to seal a sealing scroll inside another scroll? He could add the bigger one to the scroll holding his swords...

His head almost ached with the effort of not processing Tobirama's accusations.

"_Everything_ he _said_ was about how much he was against having the Uchiha clan in Konoha! Or about how he thought he'd be a better leader!" Tobirama said, clearly forgetting all the times when Madara said nothing of the sort. "And even if he hadn't said anything, all you'd need to do was _look_ at him! Did you just _never_ take a good look at him? All you'd need to do is take one glance at those ugly eyes—"

Hashirama's supplies clattered and thumped to the ground. His hands twisted into the collar of Tobirama's shirt. His eyes were inches from Tobirama's. "Never. Talk about Madara-_sama._ Like that again," he hissed. "If you want to blame somebody, blame me. I'm responsible for _everything_. I will take all of the blame, and I won't say a word, because I deserve _all of it_. But if I _ever_ hear you talk about Madara-sama like that again..."

A harsh silence fell over them. (For a moment, Tobirama feared for his brother's life. He could not say why.)

Hashirama slowly let go of Tobirama's shirt. Tobirama stared at him, stunned speechless. (Wondering where his fears had come from, unable to shake them.) Hashirama knew he'd overreacted. Maybe. He wasn't going to apologize now. He crouched down and started recollecting his fallen supplies. Why were his hands trembling?

Tobirama hesitated, then crouched beside him, subdued. Careful. "What are we going to do?"

"I'm doing it." He wrapped a protective cloth around his scroll (with all his weapons and the second scroll now sealed inside), tied a ribbon to each end, and slung it over his shoulder.

"You're not going after him alone." It was a statement, not a question.

"You have to stay here to protect Konoha in case I can't stop him." It was an order, not a statement.

"But he's got control of the Kyuubi, you can't—"

"I'll bring the Hyuuga with the longest radius of sight, and one half of whatever pair of Yamanaka have the strongest mental bond. If I lose, the Hyuuga will inform the Yamanaka, who will report the news to his partner in Konoha. So you'll know as soon as possible." What else could he bring? He had a really big shuriken hidden somewhere around here, probably packed in one of the crates that filled the room. He'd have to find it fast. (He told himself he was preparing, not procrastinating.)

"Hashirama..."

"I'm the only person in the world who's ever defeated Madara-sama in battle." And he wouldn't let that change.

Tobirama sighed quietly, and resigned himself to watching as Hashirama continued preparing. "What'll you do if he burns up the scroll with your stuff still in it?"

Hashirama paused, struck by the complete and utter mundanity of the question. Back when the Senju and Uchiha clans had still been fighting, the Uchiha had gotten into the habit of starting battles by shooting Fire Release techniques at any Senju with summoning scrolls, incinerating the scrolls and whatever they were intended to summon. That had lasted until the Senju clan stopped using summoning scrolls, and instead sent kamikaze bunshins into battle carrying massive scrolls stuffed full of fire-activated exploding tags. And then the Uchiha clan had countered, and the Senju clan had countered...

Was that all it amounted to? All those years, everything Hashirama had tried to do—his dreams of love, of peace—had it all lead back to where it had started? Just another battle with that stranger with the fiery eyes, that prodigy among a clan of prodigies? After all he had done, had nothing changed?

His armor felt very heavy.

He took a deep breath. He couldn't lose his composure. "The scroll uses special seals," he explained, still looking for that big shuriken. "Blood- or fire-activated. If the scroll catches fire, everything in it will be summoned. So I should be fine against any fire techniques but the..." he waved a hand vaguely, "black, writhey stuff." They'd never learned the name for it. (The conversation was so normal.)

Tobirama nodded. "Madara stopped using that one, didn't he?" he asked, and quickly self-corrected, "Madara-sama."

"Yeah. It made his eyes bleed." (The conversation was so _normal_.)

"Hmm." Tobirama moved a bit closer to Hashirama, looking over his shoulder as he searched a box filled primarily with what seemed to be shredded packing paper. "How do you get a summoning technique to work without blood?"

"You'd have to ask an Uzumaki." (The conversation was _so normal_, some part of Hashirama screamed: how can you talk so matter-of-factly, don't you know what you're talking about, don't you know who you're talking about! He was grateful for how normal the conversation was.)

Hashirama finally found his shuriken—so that's what the shredded paper had been padding—and went looking for a cord to strap it to his back.

Tobirama didn't say anything while Hashirama searched. But after he'd gotten the shuriken on and was wondering what else he might need, Tobirama blurted out, "Are you sure you're up to this?"

Hashirama stared at him. "Up to what?"

"You're going after Madara. Sama," he said. (As if they didn't know.) "When you find him, what are you going to do?"

Don't make him think about it. "Whatever I have to." He didn't want to think about it.

"What does that mean? Hashirama, what are you going to _do?_"

He took a long moment to answer. "I'll probably have to fight him." (Keep the conversation normal.)

"Then what?" Tobirama demanded.

Hashirama shrugged. The shuriken pressed hard against his back. "What else is there?"

"What, you're going to throw punches for half an hour, ask the Hyuuga which of you won, and go home?" Tobirama crossed his arms. "Hashirama, what are you going to do? Really?"

"Get Madara-sama to come back, if I can." He knew Tobirama wouldn't approve of that—and on some level he knew he was just dreaming—so he added, "More likely, I'll incapacitate and capture him."

"And what if you can't do that?"

Hashirama said nothing. Tobirama stared at him expectantly. "Tobirama, don't make me say it."

"How can you do it if you can't even say it?" Tobirama asked, exasperated. "I know you, you know better than this! You don't—you can't think that everything's going to somehow turn out okay if you just pretend that there's nothing to worry about! That's not how reality _works_. I shouldn't have to tell you this! This isn't some nightmare that goes away if you shut your eyes—"

(No no no _no_ no _no no NO NO NO _NO _NO _NO NO_NO_NO_NONO—_)

He was not

He was NOT

He was not going to be a man of dreams anymore.

His eyes were open.

"I'll _murder_ him," he snapped. Was that what Tobirama wanted? Was that what everybody was waiting to see? His voice was trembling. "If I have to, I'll kill him with my bare hands. I'll watch as his last breath leaves his body, I'll watch as the blood leaves his face, I'll watch as—" As the light leaves his eyes. Suddenly Hashirama could see it. Madara's face as his life fled him, as the color drained from his lips, as the fire went out of his eyes, leaving something empty and still and cold.

Hashirama couldn't breathe.

Tobirama didn't say anything. Nor did Hashirama. All he could see was that still body, those eyes...

He didn't know how long the silence went on until Tobirama walked up to him, carefully. So carefully. Tobirama was treating him like he was about to break. "Hey. Hey, Hashirama. Are you...?" He put his hand on Hashirama's arm. "Are you sure you can...?"

Hashirama shut his eyes and took a shaky breath. He couldn't stop seeing Madara's eyes. Please, please, don't start crying. "I have to. Nobody else can." Nobody else would try to save Madara like he would. Nobody else so feared his death. Those eyes, the light fading... "I... pray I won't have to."

Oh please, all you collective ancestors, you who gave Hashirama his Will of Fire, you who guide him in everything he does, you who speak to him through his dreams, through methods only you know—this can't be the way you meant for it to end, this _can't_ be what it was all heading for, can it?

A second chance, just one more chance, please give him another chance to save his enemy. He knows, he knows he squandered his first chance, he ruined it, he caused this, but—isn't it true, _isn't_ it true, that love can save the world? Please, please, Hashirama isn't asking to save the world. He just wants love to save Madara. Can't you give him that much?

But underneath the underneath—but in his heart of hearts—Hashirama knew.

Somebody like him didn't deserve a second chance.

Maybe he'd only dreamed that he'd had a first chance.

He opened his eyes again—maybe, maybe he wouldn't have to see Madara's body if he kept his eyes open—and whispered to Tobirama. "If I don't come back—" he swallowed thickly, "I leave my Will of Fire to you." He hoped Tobirama would be able to listen to it better than he had.

Tobirama nodded silently.

Hashirama pulled his arm from Tobirama's hand, and they left the storage room. "I'm going to the Yamanaka and Hyuuga complexes. Start the preparations to defend the village from a tailed beast attack. And inform the Uzumaki clan of what's happened and ask that they send someone to assist if we get the opportunity to seal the Kyuubi."

"All right." Tobirama followed him. "Hashirama... good luck."

"You too, Tobirama. Konoha is in your care now."

xxx

Hashirama didn't cry until he and his back-up were well outside of Konohagakure. His eyes were dry by the time they heard the Kyuubi's distant roar, and he went on ahead alone. They were dry when he stood atop a Wood Release-created tree and stared across a forest at the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox, with a single man riding arrogantly atop its head, waiting. As awful, as audacious and as grim as a human could be without ascending to godhood.

By that time, Hashirama was ready.

By that time, he was eager.

Because this was how he'd met Madara, this was how he _knew_ Madara. They had bonded on the battlefield.

Madara glared across the divide with beautiful, beautiful red hatred.

And let out a huge sigh, and, with exaggerated exasperation, shouted, "What? _You_ again?"

On a level below words, he said _I'm not here to listen to you. I'm here to fight you._

Hashirama grinned fiercely. "Until the bitter end," he shouted back, "enemy mine!"

On a level below words, he said _I will talk to you anyway._

And they charged forward. Trees sprouted and rocketed upward and led onward, just as fast as the Kyuubi tore trees down in its stampede forward.

Just like it used to be, in battle after battle—eyes locked, heading straight for each other. Nothing else existed.

They fell into the rhythm of the dance as easily as if they had never stopped, as if it hadn't been years since the last time. Of course they did.

After all, they knew every inch of each other's bodies. They knew each other's bodies as well as they knew their own.

Each knew the other's skin, his eyes, his hair. Each knew the other's voice, what he sounded like when he murmured, what he sounded like when he screamed himself hoarse.

Each knew the other's sensitive spots. Each knew how to make the other sweat, how to make the other pant, how to make the other moan.

Each knew—as no one else in the world could know—how the other one _moved_. Each knew how the other's muscles flexed, slackened, tensed. Each knew the other at his very best, breathing hard, limbs trembling, every muscle moving and pulling, that unending and exhausting and intoxicating rhythm.

They knew how to respond to each other, how to move as _one_, how to compliment each other exactly. Perfectly.

They knew each other thoroughly, consummately, and intimately.

In every way that mattered.

xxxxx


	19. Still Love You: Year Five

**EDIT: Dear "i love hashimada"/"i still love hashimada"**: how the heck do you expect me to answer your questions if you don't give me a username, an email address, an AIM name, a Y!IM name, an account on another site, a username of a friend... or anything, _anything_ else to contact you? Seriously, I'd be more than happy to answer your questions! I like answering questions! But I can't if you don't give me a way to contact you.

A/N: As some of you may have noticed, there was no chapter last week. That's because I posted one of the "cancel out the angst" fics I've been promising. It's called "The Taming of the Land of Big Comfy Beds," it's _actually requited_ HashiMada, and it's just as goofy and fluffy as you'd expect from the title. So it's up if you'd like to check it out.

But, of course, y'all are here for the angst.

Please please remember to review! Obviously, this is kind of a super-important chapter, and—fun fact—I completely rewrote the first scene and so I have no idea whether or not this one really works. I'd GREATLY appreciate whatever feedback/reactions you guys are willing to give. Thank you! And enjoy!

And a final reminder: **THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER. THERE ARE MORE. THE FIC IS NOT OVER. YOU CAN COME BACK NEXT WEEK.** Thank you.

xxxxx

_Still Love You_

xxx

He saw shadows and smoke and shadows. He saw beams of moving green light filtered through wavering leaves but he didn't see the leaves. He saw bursts of floating yellow embers drifting off roaring fires but he didn't see the fires. He saw

"Madara!" His only answer was the Kyuubi's howl. "_Madaraaa!_ Where are you? Listen to me! It isn't too late! This doesn't have to be a war!" Jaws snapped at him; the trunk of a massive tree blocked the teeth, and splintered.

a demonic fox, tearing across fields, tearing through forests, bloodlust in its bloody eyes. He saw countless tails, weaving, whipping back and forth. He saw red fox eyes. Red eyes. He saw

"I don't want you to die here! Neither of us has to die!" The ground shattered—the world was shattering and crumbling away beneath them. Growing trunk after trunk, jumping from branch to branch, Hashirama tried to climb faster than the ground fell. And still he looked around, searching for a glint of moonlight on an enormous fan. "Come _home,_ Madara!" Between the shaking trees and weaving tails (they were all starting to blend together), he was still searching for—

red eyes, beautiful, merciless. Wild black hair, black as smoke and shadows and smoke. Pale skin, a mouth, a sneer, a wicked smirk—and then parting lips, a challenge or an invitation.

"_Home?_"

Madara.

"Konoha was _never_ my home!"

Then he had vanished again, blending into the shadows and smoke.

"Konoha is the village we built _together!_ If it's anybody's home, it's yours!" The Kyuubi crashed toward Hashirama; half a forest shot up to hold it back. And Hashirama headed the other way. Searching, searching, searching.

He was breathing hard, panting, gasping. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. (_e-ne-my-e-ne-my-e-ne-my_) He was on fire on the inside, his lungs, his muscles, but his skin was so cold, covered in sweat, chilled by the night air, and then he could feel heat rushing toward him, a blazing fireball, a midnight fire—it was like, it was like—he had been asleep since he'd founded Konoha. Since the last time he had fought like this.

There was only one person who fought him like this.

"It's _your_ village!" Madara's voice sounded like a demon's roar. "I have nothing to do with it. I never did. You proved that much yourself!" His voice was so close.

Searching, searching— "I created the village for—"

_for you, Madara_. But he never said it. He was interrupted by a fireball (_so close_), blinding him for a moment. Madara's eyes burned into Hashirama's retinas. Without thinking Hashirama responded with the next step in the dance, the defense, swinging out the one thing he had to block the attack—his scroll of weapons. The fire activated the scroll, causing it to shoot out its contents like shrapnel from an explosion.

Madara's face—wide-eyed pained shocked—burned into Hashirama's mind. Along with the image of the sword driven straight through Madara's chest.

The light vanished. Hashirama was alone in the dark, half-blinded, with the sound of his heart and his breathing and the Kyuubi.

Madara.

No _no_ NO _Madara_—

Hashirama moved before he knew why he was moving, turning and raising a thick tree in defense. Madara sliced straight through the trunk; if it had been any thinner, Madara would have kept enough momentum to decapitate Hashirama. (Hashirama could hear Madara's breathing.) Instead, Madara tossed the sword aside and retreated again into shadows.

Hashirama retrieved the sword. It was still covered in Madara's blood.

_No no NO NO_—

"Madara!" Hashirama followed him into the shadows. "Madara, please..." Please what? Please come back to Konoha, after your clan disowned you? Please forgive Hashirama, after what he did to you?

Please don't die. Please don't die. Please don't keep on fighting until you die. Please just give this up and find a medic, find someone to heal you, you just had a sword sticking into your chest and out of your back, you shouldn't even be moving.

Something in the air shifted.

The Kyuubi let out an almighty howl.

To anyone outside the battle, nothing looked different. It was the same ferocious panic it had been a moment earlier. Only Hashirama and Madara could tell the difference, only they were powerful enough ninja to communicate without speaking, to communicate without even being able to see each other: they had paused the battle. There was a temporary truce. A greater threat had arisen. Madara had lost control over the Kyuubi.

To anyone outside the battle, it looked like they were fighting over the Kyuubi's reins, fighting to make sure the enemy didn't get power over the beast. No. For a moment, for a brief moment, Hashirama could feel it, he could tell, he knew he _knew_ he wasn't imagining that Madara felt the same way, they weren't fighting against each other. They were fighting alongside each other.

Madara's fear of the Kyuubi, therefore, was greater than his hatred for Hashirama. Wasn't it? Wasn't that what it had to be? If he was willing to form this unspoken truce to stop the Kyuubi, a truce that even risked letting Hashirama get control, didn't it have to be that? Didn't it? _Didn't_ it? Didn't it, oh please—

Madara regained control.

But the battle didn't resume. Not quite yet. Hashirama wasn't going to be the one to continue. But Madara didn't. And still he didn't.

A broken hopeless hopeful voice somewhere inside Hashirama cried out, sobbed out _maybe he regrets it maybe he regrets it maybe he doesn't want to fight maybe he maybe he_

The Kyuubi had turned south. Toward Konoha. Why was Madara so desperate to stop its rampage—unless he hadn't intended to attack Konoha after all?

_Oh please, maybe he, maybe he_

"We make better allies than enemies." Hashirama's voice was so quiet (drowned out by his own heartbeat) he couldn't even hear himself.

But as far away as he was, standing on the head of the Kyuubi, Madara could see the words on his lips. "_Made_." Madara sounded like he'd been breathing fire. His voice was cracked and dry and thick with smoke.

"We still do. Madara, come back to Konoha. We—_I_ can fix this. I'll do anything—"

"You think I wouldn't?" Madara snapped. "Do you think I wouldn't do—I wouldn't have done anything to—to have some place where I knew my clan would be safe? Do you think I wouldn't give every ounce of strength in my body just to have a place like Konoha was supposed to be—a city of peace! Do you—"

"Madara—"

"_Hashirama!_"

Silence.

All Hashirama could hear was his breathing. He could almost hear Madara's.

"Do you—" _crack_, "have... any idea, what I would have given to be able to trust you?"

Hashirama couldn't even hear his breathing. All he could see was Madara's eyes, so bright, lit by the moon, lit by his own fire.

"Do you have any idea what I _did_ give, j-just for the _hope_ that I could trust you?"

And Hashirama realized—for once, it wasn't fire, it wasn't moonlight making Madara's eyes glisten.

He knew: the only way one ninja could truly understand another ninja was through battle. He knew: two sufficiently powerful ninja, through combat, could each actually understand what was in his enemy's heart. But he had never been able to get a glimpse at Madara's.

And maybe it was because Madara had sealed his heart away. Or maybe it was because Hashirama had sealed his own away first.

(And maybe they both had. The eyes are the window to the soul—how can you look through your neighbor's windows if you've got the curtains drawn over your own?)

If Madara ever felt anything... Madara was a ninja, and therefore, he did not allow himself to feel. If he did feel, he would not admit it. But his eyes could speak. They could reveal things in his heart that his words could not:

_As much as you wanted peace, Hashirama—as desperately as you wanted peace with Uchiha—I wanted peace with Senju._

Sound returned.

Again Madara disappeared. The battle resumed.

Again Hashirama pursued. The dance resumed.

He could feel the sweat on his back, on his forehead. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

(Wasn't Madara still bleeding to death?)

"Madara, it's not too late, it's not—I still want peace! Doesn't everyone? Don't _you?_" He did, Hashirama knew he did. "We almost made it! Don't we still have time to go back? To try again?"

The Kyuubi howled. Hashirama had to race out of the way, as it hurled an enormous black ball toward him. (It looked almost like Madara's black fire.) But as soon as he was safe, he continued searching.

"We can have a second chance, Madara!"

"And do what with it?" Where was his voice? Desperately, Hashirama tried to track its source. "Use it to create another make-believe alliance? Wait for it to end with warfare? Just like it always has! Just like it always will! The past will cycle over and over and every 'second chance' we get is going to start it over. You're trapped in the past—_I'm_ looking toward the future! I'm going to break this cycle, I'm going to save the world!" Again that voice like breathing fire. Like he was full of hot air.

Hashirama didn't know what Madara was talking about anymore. He doubted Madara did either. But he wasn't going to get anywhere near him as long as the Kyuubi was rampaging—he had to find his weapons again, he'd left his sealing scroll with them. "If you're going to save the world, then let me help you!"

And there was Madara again, silently, his eyes speaking for him: _are you sure about that?_

_I would love nothing more than to be led by you, give me your orders, give me your commands, and I will follow you to the ends of the earth—_

A wicked smirk. "You're already helping me." Madara swung his scythe; Hashirama defended with his sword—he was still carrying that? He hadn't even realized he still had it.

Sword to scythe, neither gained any ground. How could they? They knew each other too well. Perfectly well.

(Each knew how the other one _moved_.)

Behind them, the Kyuubi circled, the Kyuubi howled—of no more consequence than a chirping cricket. This was a dance for only two partners.

(How the other's muscles flexed, slackened, tensed.)

Every swing, every counter; every thrust, every parry; every move was calculated. Every move was predetermined, was fated, was destiny. And this was so right, so perfect—

(—breathing hard, limbs trembling, every muscle moving and pulling, that unending and exhausting and intoxicating rhythm—)

—and this really was the last time.

Impossible—

Madara tore a gash in Hashirama's cheek. Just enough to slick the scythe's blade with blood. And again was gone. Like a shadow. Like a wisp of smoke.

Hashirama clamped a hand over his cheek, channeling chakra to it; a moment later and it didn't matter, he had to _find Madara_, he had to stop the Kyuubi and then he had to find—

A glint of moonlight off metal. Hashirama raced toward it; there were his weapons, jammed into a tree, there was his scroll. Hashirama added his bloodied sword to the others and grabbed the sealing scroll. If he could just stop the Kyuubi—

"What is it going to take?" Hashirama's throat hurt worse than any of his wounds. "We both want peace, I _know_ we do! What do we have to do?"

"I told you the first time you ever spoke to me." There was the voice, finally Hashirama found it. There was Madara: "To end this warfare, one of us has to die. The peace we wanted never existed. _Wake up_, Hashirama! We were destined to hate each other! _This is how it was always going to be!_"

Standing above the trees, standing before the battlefield ruins, the sealing scroll unrolled before him—Hashirama stared up at Madara, all but floating in the sky, silhouetted against the moon.

He was the most beautiful man in the world.

"This was never the inevitable end! We didn't have to hate each other!" Hashirama shouted at the silhouette. "I _am_ awake! And _I still love you_!"

Madara's only answer was the roar of a demonic fox.

xxx

Hashirama never saw Madara's corpse. He never saw his lifeless form, his still chest, his pallid cheeks. He never saw his cold lips. He never saw his vacant eyes. That was the only blessing he had that day.

Madara's body was never found. After the battle, even the _maps_ of the area had to be completely redrawn; it wasn't hard to assume a single tiny body could have been buried, swept downstream, or smeared into a fine film across the landscape. Eventually, everyone would agree that Madara had been physically destroyed.

Regardless, Madara's corpse would haunt Hashirama's dreams for decades.

For months, every time he closed his eyes, he would see the pain on Madara's face, the shock in his eyes, the sword in his chest—burned into his retinas.

After the battle, Hashirama was in shock.

He was in shock when his backup, the Hyuuga and Yamanaka, came to move him from the battlefield in case the Kyuubi escaped; it was trapped in a living cage made by Wood Release trees, locked shut with an immense scroll of Uzumaki seals.

He was in shock when Tobirama showed up with what seemed like half the village, to do what they could to reinforce the Kyuubi's seals until an Uzumaki arrived, and to search for whatever was left of Madara.

He was in shock as he was treated for his injuries, as an ANBU in a snail mask gently brushed his stray hairs from his head and cleaned his torn flesh from his wounds, and as he was led to a tent and told to get some sleep. He didn't sleep.

He was in shock the next day as he told the clan leaders who had come to the battlefield what had happened. He told it as distantly and as plainly and as wistfully as if the story were some terrible old folk tale he'd learned as a child.

He was in shock when someone looked at the cliff and waterfall and lake that had been formed in the battle, didn't realize they were new additions to the landscape, and asked Hashirama what this valley was; he answered, "The end."

He was in shock when he managed to track down Tobirama, pull him aside for a moment, and ask him in innocent, dazed confusion, "Where's Madara-sama?"

He was in shock when Tobirama told him that maybe he should go back to his tent and try to sleep a bit more. He still didn't sleep.

He was in shock when his tent flap flew open and Mito rushed inside, and sat beside him, looking at his injuries, feeling his face, feeling his chest, trying not to cry. He sat upright and looked at her, not feeling anything.

He was in shock when she said, "Oh, Hashirama-san, I-I just got here, I just saw the Kyuubi, they haven't told me anything yet, I just got here... What happened? How is he? He's still recovering, right? How badly is he hurt?"

He was in shock when he looked in her eyes (fireless), not feeling anything, and said, "I killed Madara-sama."

And that

is when he broke.

xxx

There was no fight this time. There was no I'm Mourning Madara More Than You Are contest.

They were each too inconsolable to even attempt to comfort the other; they were each too forlorn to even consider turning away the other's company; and so they clung to each other, in desperation, arms around backs, hand clasped in hand, grieving together, completely alone.

After a long, miserable silence, Hashirama was the first to finally speak. "We can break off the engagement, if you want."

Mito didn't believe she'd heard him right. "_What?_" She drew back, staring into Hashirama's face. "Hashirama-san, what are you talking about? Why would I...?"

She had never before seen such a hopeless look in anyone's eyes. "If you hate me half as much as I hate myself..."

"Hashirama-san, don't even _say_ that." She embraced him even more tightly, squeezing her eyes shut, resting her head on his shoulder, pulling his onto hers. It was no more comforting than holding a corpse. She whispered, "I don't hate you, right? Of course I don't hate you." It was nearly true.

"I'm sorry..." She could barely hear him.

She should have said something like "don't be sorry," or "you did what you had to do," or "you didn't do anything wrong." Instead, she said, "So am I."

xxx

As the days passed, it became apparent that no insentient container would hold the Kyuubi for long.

The Uzumaki clan had suspected this might happen. They'd already developed a procedure to seal a tailed beast in a human. Mito knew the procedure. She had the seals with her. She volunteered to become a living prison for the Kyuubi.

This astonished everyone. Quite a few people glanced at Hashirama. Surely, he wouldn't let his bride-to-be do something so... so suicidal?

Hashirama said nothing. He watched the events unfold with a blank face and with vaguely sad eyes. These days, that was about normal for him.

The procedure was long, complicated, and painful. Hashirama helped with the entire process; if it weren't for him, it never would have succeeded. Some immature spectators tried to make jokes about him having a sneak peak of what he'd get on his wedding night (since Mito was naked, of course), but the jokes died. It was clear that Hashirama didn't care in the slightest about the body beneath him. He only cared about ensuring that the sealing succeeded and that Mito survived.

When it was over, Mito was declared an angel. To protect the world, she had sacrificed her body—her _life_—to a demon. Sure, she had the perfect chakra for containing the Kyuubi. Sure, even if she didn't often go into battle, she was well-known as a powerful kunoichi. So it was only natural that, if anybody be chosen, it be her... But, to _volunteer_. So bravely. So selflessly. She truly was an angel.

And it was true that she was all that, Hashirama thought, but he suspected "protecting the world" wasn't her primary motivation.

Madara had been the first, last, and only person to control the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox. With the help of a large enough force, tailed beasts could be diverted from their route, or captured. But they couldn't be _controlled_. Until now. Everyone camped out in this valley had heard the full account of the battle: Madara had ordered the Kyuubi around like it was a common summon. (Hashirama never told that, for a moment, Madara had lost control. He could not, would not speak ill of Madara.) In their minds, the Kyuubi would forever after be associated with Uchiha Madara.

That was why Mito had volunteered. Now, something that had once been part of Madara—if not literally, then at least in spirit—would always be a part of her.

Hashirama had feared he might be... jealous. But he wasn't. He just distantly considered himself lucky. He was going to marry someone who contained something that had once been part of Madara.

(Everyone would come to say that Hashirama and Mito were a perfect couple, that there couldn't have been a marriage between a man and a woman more well-matched. They were right, but not for the reasons they thought they were.)

It wasn't until long after the sealing that Hashirama realized something.

He had felt nothing when he'd seen Mito naked.

He'd felt _nothing_ for her, _nothing_ for her body.

He didn't fantasize about it, didn't dream about it, didn't obsess over it.

He had seen his bride-to-be completely and utterly exposed, and he felt _nothing_.

He was more relieved than words could tell.

He knew, unquestionably, that he was a man of dreams. He would be as long as he loved Madara.

But he could control himself.

xxx

Because there was no body, the Uchiha created a symbolic grave for Madara. All they buried was a small box of his personal effects; some of his weapons, some of his clothes, some of his falconry equipment...

There had been a debate, before the funeral, about whether Madara's tossed-aside forehead protector should be added to the symbolic grave. Hashirama had said he would allow the Uchiha to do whatever they wanted with it. (If they had buried it, that would have been appropriate; if they had chosen not to... well, Hashirama could have kept it. But he would not _ask_ for it. What right did he have...?) They chose to bury it.

The only reason Hashirama didn't give a eulogy at Madara's funeral was because he had killed him. What right did he have to speak about the life of the man whose death he had caused?

Uchiha Byakko spoke. (In light of Madara's death, the Uchiha clan had graciously decided to forget that they had disowned him.) Byakko had known Madara since his birth, had even helped train him. He was speaking to a mourning audience consisting almost entirely of Uchiha clan members, he was speaking of many things only the clan had ever known about Madara.

Hashirama was there, of course, of course. Mito was there. The leaders of most of the other clans were there. The Uchiha clan had probably assumed they were simply trying to be good diplomats. Some of them might have resented Hashirama—killing Madara and then showing up at his funeral. But they didn't turn him out.

Hashirama and Mito cried harder than any of the Uchiha. Mito, motionlessly, lips tight, eyes bright with tears. Hashirama, shoulders shaking, jaw and fists clenched, eyes shut tight in a futile attempt to keep his tears from falling.

The eulogy didn't come close to doing Madara justice.

xxxxx


	20. Porcelain White Mask: Year Six

A/N: I love how nobody noticed the snail-masked ANBU.

For those of you who wondered whether or not Madara's going to show up in the rest of the fic, I have an answer for you: maybe, sorta, kinda-yes-and-kinda-no. I hope that clears things up!

I hope you enjoy the chapter, and please remember to review!

xxxxx

_Porcelain White Mask_

xxx

**Year Six**

The Year He Mourned Madara

xxx

A barely remembered fact that was hiding in Hashirama's unconscious, a detail he had skimmed over in that scroll he'd read in the Uchiha complex: the traditional mourning period for an Uchiha, after losing a loved one—a parent, a child, a sibling, a spouse, a lover—was five hundred days.

Hashirama never stopped and wondered why he wanted to postpone his and Mito's wedding until almost a year and a half after Madara's death.

On some level, he felt like he would be sick if he tried any sooner. (As it happened, so did Mito.)

xxx

"I'm sorry, I'm... I have no idea what's wrong." That was Mito's husband.

"It's fine, I'm sure this, probably, happens to a lot of people..." And that was Hashirama's wife. "Here, uh, let me try something..."

She tried something.

Hashirama yelped and jerked away from her hand.

"I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"Uh, n-no, no! Sorry. I'm just, ah... not used to somebody else touching me, there."

"Oh, no, that's fine, I understand exactly what you mean, I mean, I'm not either, right...?"

Wait.

They realized what they had just said, looked at each other in mortification, and quickly looked away.

Hashirama was horrified at himself. Had he really just said "somebody _else_"?

Oh, smooth. He was fairly certain that you _don't_ admit to your newlywed bride on your wedding night that you masturbate. He thought, _that's it, I have now convinced my new spouse forever that I am a creep_. (As it happened, so did Mito.)

(At least Mito wasn't concerned that her new spouse might think she was a man of dreams.)

After that, they couldn't let their eyes meet without wincing in embarrassment. Here they were, newly married, sitting on separate corners at the foot of what was supposed to be their wedding bed, and they couldn't even look at each other—much less touch each other.

"Hoka—er... Hashirama?" There was an audible gap after his name, a blank waiting for an honorific.

"Yes... Mito?" How long would it take for that gap to fill?

"Maybe we should, uh, try turning off the light, right?"

"That's a good idea. Let's... let's do that..."

They turned off the lights. They tried again.

And it did not feel right. Hashirama didn't have a clue what to do, how to do it—he couldn't even follow the universal advice to "do what feels right," because nothing felt right. This body was not right, it didn't feel right. It was narrow in the wrong places and wide in the wrong places. It was round in the wrong places and smooth in the wrong places. It was the wrong kind of slender and the wrong kind of soft. It was made of air and water. Hashirama needed fire. He needed that bond forged on the battlefield. He needed...

Mito drew back first. They tried to apologize at the same time. They tried to tell each other that there was no need to apologize. They settled on a friendly hug and a nervous laugh. They felt humiliated.

Tentatively, Mito asked, "Do you know what we should do, right?"

"What?" Hashirama dreaded the possibilities.

"We should confuse everybody." Mito stood up. "Let's go get something to eat, right?"

"Go...?" Hashirama squinted at the clock sitting on the windowsill. (A wedding gift from Tobirama, who was annoyed that Hashirama never seemed to have a clock.) "It's after one in the morning, isn't it?"

"That's why it will confuse everybody." Mito started getting dressed, tossing on a random top and pants (wait, were those Hashirama's clothes?) and a much simpler obi than her usual. "We could just stay here the rest of the night, not doing anything," (she skipped past the "anything" so quickly it barely sounded like a double entendre), "or we could go do something more interesting. Right?"

"I guess, but..." Hashirama was searching for something more comfortable than his ceremonial wedding garb. And by now he was pretty sure Mito _had_ grabbed one of his tops. "What would people say about us?"

_Why aren't they spending the night together, why aren't they doing what newlyweds do? Are they not interested in each other, are they interested in someone else? Why did they grieve so long for Madara, why...?_

Mito turned on the lights, dispelling the dreamlike accusations. She had an eager shine in her eyes that Hashirama hadn't seen since... since nearly a year and a half ago. "Let's find out."

Hashirama stared at her. Then smiled. "All right. Why not?"

After all, they agreed, who said everybody had to celebrate their wedding night the same way? It was a momentous occasion. After the grand official ceremony for the benefit of their clans, their villages, their daimyo, and their nations, why shouldn't they be allowed to have their private ceremony however they chose?

The only place they found still serving any food at so late an hour was a gambling den which had somehow sprung up in the civilian quarters, and which was quite well-stocked with sushi, sake, and poker. Hashirama, who didn't eat meat, stuck with the sake and poker.

He only got a _little_ bit ridiculously drunk.

He lost every poker round and 8,300 ryou.

Oh whatever he didn't need that money anyway. Didn't need it. The hell did he need money for? He was the Hokage. He was...

Damn.

Mito, who'd stuck to a little sushi, a little less sake, and had never held a hand of cards in her life, decided it looked easy enough and tried to help her new husband win some of that money back.

She did much better than him.

She actually won three hands.

And she only lost 1,900 ryou.

They had a lot of fun, as it turned out. Well. Except when Hashirama started mumbling about how this whole card thing would be a lot easier for Madara, he'd be able to see through any freaking poker face no problem... for a moment, that brought them down. But the moment passed. Over the years, Mito would learn that Hashirama only brought Madara up when he was drunk—and he _always_ brought Madara up when he was drunk.

But otherwise, yes. They had fun. Sure, between the food, the drinks, and the bad gambling, they went home almost 11,000 ryou poorer. But that money was only a fraction of what they'd received as wedding gifts, they'd gotten to spend a few hours doing something relaxing and stupid and irresponsible, and they had more than succeeded in their goal of absolutely baffling everyone.

And they learned some very important things about each other.

Mito learned that Hashirama was happy to socialize with anyone, but the moment politics came up he'd politely excuse himself from the conversation and socialize elsewhere; and when he drank, he was a heavy drinker and an obnoxious drunk, but in the right context he could be a fun obnoxious drunk; and regardless of his state of mind, he always at least made an effort to be a gentleman. (This was excluding the night after Tobirama had been named Nidaime Hokage, but they always excluded that night anyway.)

Hashirama learned that Mito had a tendency to squint and frown when she was concentrating, confused, annoyed, or just didn't have anything better to do with her face; and she slipped into the speech and mannerisms of a noblewoman whenever the subject of politics came up, but never at any other time; and she was only dignified until she was in familiar company, at which point she turned into a dedicated, talented, and incorrigible trickster.

They both learned that neither of them was any good at gambling, but Hashirama was considerably worse.

Hashirama never would fall in love with Mito. But they would manage to become best friends.

xxx

Mito was right. Everybody was confused.

Some of the rumors they heard people spreading about them, or else heard from reliable sources like Kagayaki Koori:

Maybe they just got finished really, really fast?

Maybe there's some sort of Uzumaki clan tradition that says they can't have their wedding night on the night of their wedding?

Maybe (among those who knew of the seal) there was some kind of problem with the Kyuubi that prevented them from doing anything?

Maybe they'd already been "together" before they married, and so they didn't need a wedding night?

Maybe Mito had been too scared to go through with it?

Maybe Hashirama just, you know, couldn't _perform_?

The last one would have been hilarious if it hadn't been basically true.

Because, as they would come to discover, Mito could get used to it. But Hashirama couldn't. He wasn't okay with it, and he couldn't act like he was. He couldn't perform.

Eventually, he would get over it. Enough to perform, enough to produce a child—but just barely. It always felt wrong.

Mito enjoyed it more. Even so, for a long time, she would always turned off the lights, shut her eyes.

And if either of them ever accidentally murmured someone else's name, the other never mentioned it.

xxx

(Over time, Hashirama reached the point where he could think about Madara... and then go on. Or, just not think about him at all. Not for long, never for long, but for long enough.)

(But pressure builds over time. Sometimes he had to let it out. Sometimes he had to tell Tobirama—who was now the acting Hokage—that he'd be taking the next day off. He'd go home, and grab a bottle of sake, and leave a note for Mito saying that he needed some private time that evening, and lock himself in the guest room, and drink himself into oblivion.)

(He was _not_ alcoholic. Not at all. He drank very rarely—every couple of months. Or every couple of weeks. He didn't even enjoy drinking. He just... had to, from time to time. When there was no other way to forget. When it was the only way to get rid of everything. Just for a little bit. Just for a few hours. Just for one night.)

(The worst part was the descent, when he was drunk enough to stop understanding, but not drunk enough to forget.)

Come back _come back come back COME BACK _COME BACK_ COME BACK_

(That was always the worst part.)

Dammit didn't you _know_ I never wanted you to leave? Didn't you _know_ that I only wanted to keep you forever? Why did you do this to me, damn you, why did you do this to yourself? All I did was love you, damn you, and I still love you, I still love you, what did you do to yourself?

What did I do to you? What did I do to myself? Why did I do this to you? Why didn't I say something, how was I supposed to know, how was I supposed to know?

I would do anything, anything, anything for you, my love. I founded this village, for you. I changed the world, for you. You never knew, but this is your village, your village, your village.

I will do everything for it, my love. I will love it as I could not love you, I will care for it as I could not care for you, I will protect it as I could not protect you. I will live for your village. I will die for your village. As I could not live and die for you.

Won't you come back to me? Not even to me—come back for my wife's sake, come back for your clan, for your village, for your world. Anything, anything, come back for anything at all, just don't, please, oh, please, please, don't leave me. Don't leave me without you. How can you be gone? How can you be... I don't understand.

How can the world go on without you?

(But after long enough... He would forget. He would forget that the world went on.)

(Sometimes, there was no other way to forget.)

xxx

And then sometimes, for a bit, he wouldn't even remember what he was trying to forget.

He never forgot for long. But it was long enough to survive.

xxx

On Konoha's third birthday, Madara had given it two gifts: the Kyuubi, and a broken Hokage.

Konoha was now four and a half years old.

Sometime in all of this, they caught the other tailed beasts.

Go Konoha.

Woohoo.

Yay.

Hashirama attended a great many of the celebrations, got blind drunk, found his way home, and passed out. The other celebrations he avoided, so he could get blind drunk and pass out privately.

Since Tobirama now occupied the Hokage Residence, Hashirama had moved out. He and Mito had a very nice house. So he was always polite enough to pass out in the guest room so that Mito could sleep in the master bedroom in peace.

And meanwhile, the rest of the world grew.

xxx

There were nine hidden villages: Konoha, Uzushio, Iwa, Kiri, Kusa, Suna, Ame, Taki, and Kumo. Leaf, Whirling Tides, Stone, Mist, Grass, Sand, Rain, Waterfall, and Cloud. Nine villages.

And nine tailed beasts. All of which were currently in Konoha, trapped in pots, barrels, and Mito. And Konoha wanted to get rid of them all. (Except Mito. They didn't really like the Kyuubi, but they'd rather keep Mito.) And the other villages were starting to get annoyed at Konoha for holding onto the tailed beasts. They were starting to get suspicious.

Nine beasts, nine villages. Eight beasts Konoha wanted to get rid of, eight villages envious of Konoha's beasts. Worked out splendidly, at least as far as Hashirama was concerned. Especially since one of his diplomatic goals was sharing the power, not keeping it centralized in Konoha—because he didn't want to save the world, to stop war, through intimidation, through power—he wanted to do it through love. How could he prove that by keeping all the power to himself?

Er, not... not specifically keeping the power to _himself_. Keeping all the power in _Konoha_, that is.

It wasn't like Hashirama felt some sort of... _guilt_, whenever he had more authority than others. It wasn't like Hashirama was scared to have power at someone else's expense. It wasn't like he was so afraid of misusing his authority that he'd all but retired as Hokage, handed over as much authority as possible to Tobirama, and barely allowed himself to serve as an advisor. It wasn't like he couldn't make a decision without remembering what had happened the last time he'd made an important choice.

These days, the only decisions he made were decisions that, in one way or another, took power away from him. But it wasn't because he was afraid.

Who was he kidding? Hashirama was not allowed to delude himself anymore. He was terrified that he might do to someone else what he had done to Madara. There. That's it.

But this was a good idea, wasn't it? Giving one beast to each village? Even if it happened to ease Hashirama's self-loathing paranoia, it was also good for the villages, right? Konoha would have no more power than anyone else. _Nobody_ would have more power than anyone else. Everyone was equal. Which was all good.

So Hashirama gave one beast to each village.

So why in the world was everybody mad now?

Hashirama had done the right thing—well, he'd _tried_ to do the right thing. With Tobirama's approval, he'd gone to all the other villages _personally_ and handed over the tailed beasts. He'd even included scrolls describing all the seals, how they worked, and even how to seal a tailed beast in a _human_ if it became absolutely necessary. Instruction manuals, free of charge.

And now? They were arguing about who got which beast and why. They were asking why Konoha wouldn't show them the container for the Kyuubi, and asking what Konoha was hiding. They were trying to trade beasts. They were trying to force their beasts into people, and people were dying, and they were blaming Konoha.

What the hell were these people thinking?

They were killing themselves, and they were on the verge of killing each other. That wasn't what Hashirama had wanted. What was he supposed to do now?

He didn't know. Tobirama didn't know, either. Handing out the beasts had been Hashirama's idea, Tobirama pointed out, shouldn't he come up with something? How mature, Tobirama. Is that how you're going to handle all crises? Are you going to sit back and ignore them if they weren't your ideas? If Iwagakure invades Konohagakure, are you going to stand aside while they invade and let the Tsuchikage handle it because it was his idea? If the Kyuubi kills your sister-in-law and escapes, are you going to sit in your office while it rampages because it was the Kyuubi's idea?

Hashirama actually said that. To his brother. Tobirama was dumbstruck. Hashirama was horrified with himself.

He was under a lot of pressure. More than he'd realized.

That was his excuse, at least.

On some level, on a level he knew existed and sometimes even listened to, he kept thinking, _I shouldn't have chosen him, I shouldn't have, I should have chosen, it should have been—everything would have been all right if it had been—oh why, why, why, why can't I stop thinking that, stop thinking that, stop thinking—_

He never said this.

The whole world was going insane and it was all Hashirama's fault.

The world was about to self-destruct and it was all Hashirama's fault.

In his effort to end war—in his effort to get peace through _love_—he had provided all the ingredients for a ninja free-for-all.

He had founded Konoha in hopes of preventing war, and then when the other nations adopted the village system, he'd thought, great, great, less war, right? No more war? All the warring clans were together in villages, and so they'd have no reason to fight. Right? And then catching the tailed beasts had all been to prevent bloodshed, to stop the random tailed beast attacks, and since that worried the other nations he'd spread them out so they'd have no reason to worry...

And now this. Now, this.

Hashirama did not end war. Here was one looming, here was one about to start. He did not end war.

He just organized it. He refined it. Warfare was now strategic, warfare was calculable. It wasn't clan-on-clan, it was twenty-clans-on-twenty-clans. With brand-new weapons that could inflict more damage than any human—heck, than any clan—could inflict alone.

Weapons that Hashirama had supplied to the villages.

Who was to blame for the current state of the world?

Why... the other villages, of course. They were the ones who were on the verge of attacking each other all of the sudden.

Really! What were these people _thinking_?

xxx

An example of what Hashirama had to put up with:

"I'm very sorry, Hokage-dono, but I am afraid we cannot do that." That was the representative of the Mizukage. (Hashirama had never even met the Mizukage, he only ever met with his representative. It may as well have been the same; the representative had, it seemed, all of the authority of the Mizukage, an over-glorified second-in-command.) He was saying Kirigakure would not agree to a treaty with Konohagakure. Hashirama had come here hoping that, even with the current state of affairs, if he got as many villages as possible to join an alliance, everything would be okay. However, that only worked when people _agreed to an alliance_.

And after Hashirama had given Kiri the Sanbi, too.

He had been in the Land of Water for almost a week, trying to reach through to the Mizukage's representative, telling him about Hashirama's hopes for the future and for a peaceful world. Desperate to get through to him. He was going around to all the villages, trying to talk to the leaders, trying to ease tensions, lower hostilities. He was Hashirama of the Senju Clan of the Forest, the Shodai Hokage of Konohagakure no Sato. He was still given _some_ respect, even by people who didn't like him. He was an ideal diplomat. Perhaps, perhaps, they would listen to him?

The representative didn't. The representative was a stone wall. He kept his voice low, he remained seated in the meeting room, he never moved. His feet were covered, his hands were gloved, his hair was completely concealed by a hood... His face was utterly hidden by a white porcelain mask, like Kiri's hunter-nin but with only a single eye slit. He looked like something had broken him. He tensed whenever Hashirama came into the room; his bodyguards shifted to a more alert position, as if they expected an attack. And he always gave off an aura of hatred—as if, for some reason, he couldn't stand Hashirama.

Hashirama just stared at the representative, dumbfounded. Why wouldn't he agree to an alliance? It was just a "we're not going to attack you for no reason" alliance, why wouldn't he agree? "I'm..." Hashirama swallowed, trying to think of something to say. "I... I'm sorry, I don't understand..."

The representative stayed silent. (As if staring at him in disbelief.) "Kirigakure no Sato will not ally with _your_ village," he finally said, as though he thought Hashirama didn't understand _what_ he was saying, not _why_. His voice was so quiet. Hashirama was afraid to speak too much in the representative's presence, for fear of talking over him.

He still didn't get it. "Why?" He wasn't trying to be rude, but—

"Are you challenging my authority?" the representative murmured. It was the sharpest murmur Hashirama had ever heard. Hashirama opened his mouth to respond (no of course he wasn't challenging him) but he held back just a moment to make sure he wasn't going to talk over the representative, and ended up standing there, idiotic, with his mouth hanging open, as the representative went on.

"Just because your kekkei genkai happened to make you some celebrity, and just because you happened to be the _first_ person to found a hidden village," (Hashirama wanted so badly to cut in but he would not, he would wait), "that doesn't mean you, _Shodai_-dono, are the only person in the world who is capable of deciding how a village should be run. Especially someone else's. Frankly, I—and I speak for my Mizukage and my village—I am not very fond of the way you have been managing _your_ village. Handing out beasts willy-nilly, for example—although we are certainly grateful for your gift."

He didn't sound it.

"Such gift-giving methods of appeasement are old-fashioned, and quite frankly moronic when the gifts in question are as destructive as the tailed beasts. Kiri would have kept such power to itself. I know you are _quite_ the proponent of the theory that love will save the world, but the problem is, if you share your power with any village that asks for it, your plan will only work as long as the people to whom you give power also wish to maintain peace by love. The only way you'll get your world ruled by love is if _nobody_ wants to use power. And that will never happen."

Was he done? He was done. What Hashirama should have replied with was _but that's my goal, to persuade everyone else to want love more than power. Why don't you help me reach that goal? Why don't you help turn the tide?_ But instead, he said, "I didn't found Konoha alone."

The representative didn't miss a beat. As though he'd expected Hashirama to say that. "Really. And who do you think was helping you?" he asked. Hashirama almost spoke but waited. "It was Uchiha Madara-sama, wasn't it?" Hashirama felt it was safe to nod. "Yes, and what happened to him? For three years, you used him and his power, until you had to announce a successor—the whole world thought you were choosing him, you know. And then? You turned him down, ran him out, hunted him down, and ground him out." The representative fell silent. But, Hashirama could not answer. "Excuse me for not trusting in you, Senju."

Hashirama recoiled hard, he hoped it didn't show physically. How did the representative know? How did he know just the right thing to say, to break him?

That was the end of any diplomatic discourse. There was nothing Hashirama could say now. Madara's ghost was glaring at him through the representative's eyehole. All Hashirama wanted to do was fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. He had to fight to stay on his feet.

The representative let out a sigh, a cold, hollow hiss that didn't quite escape his mask. "How very professional of you. Resisting the urge to attack me." Thin and low as his voice was, he almost sounded triumphant. "You will forgive me if I'm not inclined to ally with your village as long as _you_ are leading it."

"I'm _not_ leading it," Hashirama protested. "I'm only Konoha's diplomat now. The Nidaime Hokage is the real leader."

"And your 'brother' is even worse than you." It was the most complimentary thing the representative ever said about Hashirama.

(It should be noted that the Uchiha were not the only ones to look at the Shodai and Nidaime Hokage and think they didn't look very related.)

That was the end.

Hashirama had used up everything. He left. He just—he had nothing else to do, there was nothing else he could... He left. There was—there was nothing else—he just, left.

There was nothing else he could say.

Disappointment: Hashirama had never figured out what to say to get through to the Mizukage's representative.

(Disappointment: the Mizukage's representative had never figured out what to say to get through to Hashirama.)

Maybe there was nothing he could have said.

(Maybe there was...)

No. No, there had to have been. There must have been _something_. There must have—He must have missed it, but, somewhere—

He should have said—or he _shouldn't_ have said—he should have—when he'd had the chance, he should have—when he'd had the chance, before everything had gone wrong, he should have—when he'd had the chance, before everything had gone wrong, before he had ruined...

Oh, Madara.

Madara, Madara, Madara...

What would he have done, somehow... somehow, Hashirama knew, Hashirama _knew_, somehow, Madara, Madara would have know, he would have known what to say, if, if before Hashirama had ruined everything, if he had chosen...

Oh, why, why, why, why, why...

This, this was what Hashirama had to put up with, when he dealt with the other villages. This was what he put up with again and again. Here he was, alone in the Land of Water, making his way home from a failed diplomatic mission. Out in the cold cold night, trying to start a campfire, settling into a tent, shivering himself to sleep. Chilled to the bone by the voice of the Mizukage's representative.

The Land of Water cared about power more than love.

Welcome to the real world: the shiny ideals on which Konoha was founded didn't exist outside of Konoha. They didn't exist outside of Hashirama's dreams.

xxxxx


	21. UCHIHA MADARA'S WILL: Year Six

A/N: I haven't mentioned this before, but this fic's got an unofficial soundtrack. (Actually it's just the playlist I listened to while writing this, but it turned into an unofficial soundtrack.) I might have to post the song titles or something, 'cause everybody loves fanmixes! ...Well, I do.

I only mention it now to inform you that this chapter's theme is that song from _Brokeback Mountain_. You know the one.

(And if you don't, you need to look up "The Wings" by Gustavo Santaolalla _right now_.)

Enjoy the chapter, and please remember to review!

xxxxx

_UCHIHA MADARA'S WILL_

xxx

"I am _not_ dead." That was Madara.

"Actually, you are. I'm sorry." And that was Hashirama. "That's how I know this is a dream."

Madara rolled his (even now, still beautiful) eyes. "Does this _look_ like a dream to you, Senju?" He spread his arms, gesturing at their surroundings.

Hashirama looked around. The "sky," such as it was, was a pitch black void; and all he could see was an endless plain of blank, white, square pillars, scattered about, jutting up at random heights, descending into the darkness below. "Well, it looks pretty realistic..." he said thoughtfully, crouching down to examine the shadows cast on the surface of his pillar. And then he glanced up at Madara, standing on a pillar a bit taller than Hashirama's. "But you're still dead. So this _is_ a dream."

Madara threw up his hands. "_Fine_. Have it your way. Believe it's a dream if you want." He sat down on his own pillar and crossed his legs, glaring critically down at Hashirama. Under his breath, he muttered, "It's not like I've got time to argue, I've only got until you wake up crying."

Hashirama was mildly offended by the suggestion that Madara thought he'd start crying, although it was _still_ impossible for him to get angry at Madara. "So, if I'm going to wake up, then this _is_ a dream."

"I never said that," Madara said. Before Hashirama could respond, he snapped, "Oh, drop it already! There are more important matters to deal with. I'm here to pass on my Will of Fire."

Hashirama opened his mouth to say something. And stopped. And tried again. And stopped. Now he _knew_ he was dreaming. "But, that's... Madara, you don't even _believe_ in the Will of Fire."

"I don't believe in love either. That doesn't mean it isn't real, does it?"

Hashirama sensed there was something terribly paradoxical about that statement; but since he was dreaming, dream logic applied, and he let it slide. "You're... you're not passing it on to _me_, are you?"

"Why else would I be here?"

Hashirama stared. Madara glared.

"_Why?_"

Madara looked at Hashirama like he wished he could come back from the grave just to strangle him. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Because you're the only person I can trust."

Hashirama continued to stare. "But... why?"

Madara sighed heavily. "_Because_, Senju. You're the only person who cared about me enough for me to trust you with it."

Hashirama flinched in shock. "You _knew_ that I...?"

"I know _now_, don't I?" Madara uncrossed his legs and jumped off his pillar, landing on Hashirama's. "So, the Will of Fire. Will you take mine?"

"I... of course, Madara, anything—"

"Fine." Madara marched up to Hashirama, placed his hands on his shoulders (a chill shot up his spine), and stared into his eyes (he willed his knees not to give out). "My clan has nobody to protect it," he said. "No living Uchiha can do what I did for them. They have nobody to be their champion." The look in Madara's eyes said _and you robbed them of that_.

The look in Hashirama's eyes (since this was not only a dream, but a lucid dream, and he could make his eyes as expressive as he wanted) said _and I will never forgive myself for it_. Madara's glare softened a bit.

"You, Senju," Madara said, "have to take care of my clan. You've got to stand up for them when nobody else will, and remember to treat them fairly. As a Hokage, you've got more say in what happens to them than anyone else. And the Sage knows your... 'brother' won't do anything for Uchiha."

Hashirama nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact with Madara. "But... how do you want me to do that?"

"Treat my clan the way you would treat your own family."

(Now, where had those butterflies come from and what were they doing in Hashirama's stomach.) "Madara, I don't know what to... It's, it's an honor, but I... I don't know how I could possibly—"

"You convinced my clan that the best thing they could do for their future was form an alliance with their worst enemies. If you could do that, you can do anything." Madara finally took his hands off Hashirama's shoulders, took a few steps back, and surreptitiously wiped his hands off on his pants.

Hashirama just shook his head. "I don't get it, Madara. You've never trusted me in your life. Why would you start now?" Besides the fact that "in your life" didn't really apply anymore.

Madara glanced sideways at the audience as if saying _can you believe the things I have to explain to this moron_. Since this was a dream, Hashirama was the audience; and since Hashirama was also the moron having things explained to him, he felt duly insulted. (Dream perspectives operated the same way as dream logic; they made perfect sense as long as nobody expected them to make any sense at all.)

"Because," Madara said, "you founded Konoha because you wanted to make sure you'd never had to choose between sparing me and protecting your clan. You only agreed to be Hokage because you were worried that letting me be Hokage like you wanted would cause the alliance to break down. You named the village Konohagakure no Sato because it was my idea. You called yourself Hokage because you wanted to honor my clan. Nearly everything you've done in your life worth noting has been either because you wanted to help everybody in general, or just me in particular. I've got every reason in the world to trust you, don't I?"

Hashirama tried not to cringe after every sentence. He looked down; he couldn't meet Madara's gaze. (And yet, he somehow still saw Madara's eyes. Dream perspectives.)

"_Don't_ I?"

Hashirama smiled wryly. "I guess so." He forced himself to look up again. "But... then, why _didn't_ you trust me?"

For once, Madara wasn't glaring at Hashirama. His (beautiful) eyes didn't have any hatred, or distrust, or suspicion, or anger. He just looked sad. "Because I never _knew_ any of that."

He never...?

What if he _had_ known?

(Hashirama couldn't speak. He didn't know if this was an effect of the dream, or if there was something in his throat, or...)

"I never even considered it. Why would I? It's not the kind of thing that crosses your mind. Not about your worst enemy. I never had a reason to suspect any of that, and you never gave me one," Madara said. "It's ironic—isn't it, Senju? I'm sure you wanted the best for me, but in the end, you treated me worse than anyone else you knew."

(Now he knew; he was just choked up.)

"I could have been your greatest ally. I could have been your closest friend. If we had worked together from the start, maybe we could have done it. Achieved world peace. Ended warfare forever." Madara shrugged. "Now where are we? I'm gone. You're alone. War is coming. And sooner or later, the rift between us is going to tear the ninja world in two."

Hashirama had no idea what that meant, but he didn't doubt that it was true, oh hell, he didn't doubt it for a second.

"I'm sure you would have liked for us to be allies, wouldn't you?" The anger was back in Madara's eyes. "But _you_ didn't let that happen, Senju."

What had he done?

His legs finally gave out, and he fell to his knees, speechless.

What was _wrong_ with him?

Somehow, Madara heard that question: what was wrong with him? (Dream logic.) "Who told you there was anything wrong with you?" Madara asked, smirking. He crouched down in front of Hashirama, put one hand on his right shoulder, and leaned in to whisper into his left ear: "The first time you spoke to me, I told you that you're a romantic. Didn't I?"

Hashirama nodded weakly. (He could feel Madara's breath brush his ear, Madara's hair brush his face.)

"And that's what you are," Madara said. "You always believed that love is the true key to peace." (He could feel Madara's hair brush his lips, Madara's lips brush his ear...) "Why didn't you act on it?"

Hashirama woke up.

Crying.

xxx

Hashirama believed all dreams said something, something worth understanding. They were messages from the Will of Fire. From Hashirama's ancestors, his friends, his family who had gone before him, from the Senju clan, perhaps from the Sage of the Six Paths himself... now, perhaps even from Madara. The Will of Fire guided him in all he did.

And it had been trying to tell him something for years.

He was in love. He should have acted on it. He should have admitted it, at least. At least to himself, he should have admitted it.

Everything good that Hashirama had done in his life, had been because of love. Hadn't he protected his clan for love? Hadn't he founded Konoha for love?

And the single worst decision he had ever made in his life had been because he'd been trying to deny his love.

Why had he tried to deny it?

xxx

Where was he.

He was sitting up, in the cold, alone.

Where was he. The Land of Water.

Tent. Heading home. By himself. Campfire outside. In the cold.

Where was Madara.

Where...

Hashirama stepped outside his tent. Orienting himself. Waking himself.

In the black of the smoke of a midnight fire. In the cold of the moon and the heat of the inferno. Black deeper than the darkness of the sky, a black that chokes out starlight. Roiling and coiling and drifting and twirling and always burning burning black. The smoke smothering, sucking the oxygen, the air, the life out of Hashirama. The blackness suffocating him in an inescapable, irresistible heat. The smoke coming from that all-concealing, all-revealing, all-consuming, all-seeing fire.

And that fire was Madara's soul, heart, and blood. You could smell it in his words, you could see it in his beautiful beautiful eyes, you could feel it in his skin, his face, his lips...

It took Hashirama a moment—tear-blinded and sleep-dazed as he was—it took him a moment to realize that his campfire was cold and dark and had been so for hours.

But he had seen something, half-dreaming, he had seen something...

Fire.

The Will of Fire—

Madara's—

Guided Hashirama, in everything he did.

For the rest of the night, Hashirama sat outside, in the cold, alone.

Behind his eyes, he watched a fire burn in his mind.

It was the fire that had once burned in Madara's eyes. His soul. His Will of Fire.

This wasn't the first time Hashirama had cried for Madara. Nor the last. He had countless times before and would countless times to come.

However, this was the hottest his tears had ever flowed. With Madara's Will of Fire, burning behind his eyes.

Why hadn't he acted on it?

He knew that love was the only way to peace. Why hadn't he acted on it?

Why had he tried to _deny_ it?

Why had he let himself destroy... destroy Madara, destroy Konoha's future, destroy—

Why had he DENIED it?

What was wrong with—

_Who told you there was anything wrong with you?_

He shut his eyes. Hot tears slid down his cold cheeks.

He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve Madara's Will of Fire.

He would just have to make himself worthy.

_Treat my clan the way you would treat your own family._

He could—could he? He couldn't—he could, he _would_.

_We all move in together and form a big happy family and never fight again._

Madara had said that... how long ago, five, over five years ago? Said that like it was a bad thing. But he had said Hashirama was a romantic, too. Who told him there was anything wrong with that?

He would. He would. Hashirama would treat Madara's clan like his own family. He would protect them as Madara could not.

Hashirama had created a village for Madara, he had challenged the world order for Madara.

He would protect that village, for Madara. He would change the world, for Madara.

"I promise," he whispered (into the cold night air, his breath clouding like smoke from a midnight fire, like he could start breathing fire), "I will live for our clans. For our village. For our world. And I will die for them."

As he could not live and die for Madara.

Behind his eyes, Madara's soul, Madara's Will of Fire burned on. Guiding him.

xxx

On the other hand, perhaps it was just a dream. Just the nonsense nighttime babble of the mind. Hashirama believed all dreams came from the Will of Fire; but, on the other hand, Hashirama didn't know what caused dreams. He knew nothing about firing neurons of flowing neurotransmitters, about rapid eye movement or sleep cycles, about the pendunculopontine nucleus or its pontine tegmentum. He didn't even know about nocturnal penile tumescence, which could have cleared up quite a bit of his confusion. Perhaps everything was just a projection from his unconscious mind. Or the aftereffects of the brain's natural nightly clean-up and filing process. Or a tangle of memories synthesized into something half-original. Or just mental static that his brain tried to make sense of.

Perhaps the dream was nothing more than a chemical reaction. Perhaps the Will of Fire had nothing to do with it.

Perhaps the Will of Fire didn't even exist.

But perhaps it did. Perhaps his dreams were, indeed, messages from the Will of Fire, as he believed, as he had always and would always. But who's to say that he _understood_ the messages? He had taken this one literally. Was he, then, supposed to literally interpret the dream in which Madara had almost confessed _something_ to Hashirama? Was he supposed to literally interpret the dream where they were somehow simultaneously making war and making love? If that were the case, then that meant the Will of Fire had been trying its hardest to convince Hashirama that Madara was in love with him.

Perhaps he was. Or perhaps the dreams were meant to tell Hashirama something else. And perhaps this one meant something other than the literal, as well. Perhaps it was not saying that Madara, personally, wanted Hashirama to carry on his Will of Fire. Perhaps this was just the Will of Fire's way of trying to get Hashirama to pay attention again; and if the only way the Will of Fire could get its message across was by using Madara's face, perhaps it had settled on that.

Perhaps the dream was indeed from Madara. His ghost, consumed by the Uchiha curse, that cry for vengeance. Trying to sabotage Hashirama.

Perhaps he had not left behind a ghost at all. Perhaps he hadn't even died. Perhaps he had slipped into Hashirama's dreams with genjutsu, to take advantage of some confession he might have heard shouted at him, beneath the roar of the Kyuubi. Or perhaps as an act of conciliation.

Or perhaps he had heard no confession.

Or perhaps he had decided that, with everything else taken into consideration, the confession had no importance; the same way Hashirama had been forced to decide that there was no importance in the fact that Madara had finally said his name.

Perhaps Madara had not come into Hashirama's dreams, whether in spirit or in illusion. He might have been somewhere else; perhaps he was in hiding, in waiting, masked and murderous, impatient and resentful, being eaten at alive by that curse.

Perhaps Madara was simply dead, and gone, forever. Leaving nothing of himself in this world but a name that others might exploit.

There are so many uncertainties, with dreams.

In this case, there is only one certainty: that Hashirama never considered the uncertainties.

He believed—he wanted to believe—he believed, he _knew_ that had been Madara's ghost. He _knew_ he had Madara's Will of Fire.

Because he wanted it to be true.

Incidentally, there is more than one way to be a "man of dreams."

xxx

Who said there was anything wrong with that?

xxx

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon, Hokage-dono." That was the Mizukage's representative, who thought only idiots believed that love would save the world, and who thought it took an especially stubborn idiot to keep believing after seeing what lovingly sharing the tailed beasts had done for world politics.

"I haven't given up." And that was the stubborn idiot who believed more than ever that love would fix everything; and if it didn't, then dammit, you weren't sharing enough love yet.

"Back for another battle?" There was a hint of sardonicism in the representative's voice that was almost familiar. But he kept his voice low, and Hashirama couldn't place it.

He waited a moment, to be sure the Mizukage's representative wasn't going to say more. "I don't want to fight you," he said. "Not here and now, and not on a battlefield in a few years."

He hesitated, waiting for the representative to speak. The representative hesitated, waiting for Hashirama to continue. When neither did, the Mizukage's representative let out a single, short, soft laugh. "You think you have a few years," he murmured. "What was it you wanted, Hokage-dono?"

Hashirama told him what he should have told him yesterday.

"I wanted to protect the world," he said. Before the representative could interrupt, he went on, he would say what he had to say this time. "I didn't found Konoha to save my allies from death on the battlefield. Nor to save my friends, nor my family. I did it to save my enemy." He was saying things he'd never said before and would never say again. But they were things he needed to say—Konoha and Kiri needed to become allies, and this was the only way. Besides, besides, he had Madara's Will of Fire with him. He could _feel_ Madara, Madara was with him. "As long as I live, I will give everything to save the people close to me. But there was no way to save an enemy, the man I was ordered to kill and who threatened my allies' safety. Except by making him an ally as well."

And he told him. He told the representative, that never for a moment, during all the effort to found Konoha, had he thought about anything but peace. He just wanted the wars to end. He just wanted to protect everyone he cared about. Peace was his goal. Peace and harmony. Unity between all the clans, unity between everyone. That was all he'd wanted. He didn't want to take over anyone's clan or village, he didn't want to rule anyone, he didn't want to subjugate anyone. He just wanted everyone to come together. He just wanted peace. He wanted to save everyone. His clan, his village, the world. His enemy.

He told the Mizukage's representative this. He told him that _that_ was his goal, to get everyone to work together, to come together as one. His goal was to persuade everyone that love, not power, would bring peace—and if everyone believed that love would bring peace, then nobody would have anything to fear from each other, and it _would_, it _would_ succeed. But it wouldn't, _couldn't_ work if not everybody joined in on it.

Hashirama's goal was world peace. Would the Mizukage and Kirigakure help him reach that goal? Would they help him turn the tide?

"No." It was not a whisper, it was a snarl. The representative's gloved hands were clenched tightly. "I will not." It was not a murmur, it was a growl.

Hashirama didn't get a chance to speak before he continued.

"There is no love between Kirigakure and your village. And there never will be," the representative said. And then recovered his temper. (Why had he lost it?) "I'm... sorry you had to come so far, Hokage-dono." He sounded more like he was sorry Hashirama had come at all. "But I'm afraid that Kirigakure has absolutely no need for an alliance with _your_ village. We are fully self-sufficient—unlike you, apparently. We don't wished to be dragged in to aid you in your wars."

"I'm not interested in starting any wars."

"War is coming. You will be at war in a few months at the most, whether you want it or not," the representative said. "How do you think you can prevent war between villages when you can't prevent it in your own village?"

That was it. The representative was a wall. Hashirama had done his best—saying everything he could think of to say. But even with the Will of Fire—with Madara...

"Thank you for your time," Hashirama said.

"I have been more than generous with it," the representative said.

Hashirama returned home.

The representative didn't trust him. And so the Mizukage didn't trust him. Would never trust him. Because he couldn't keep war out of Konoha.

Because he hadn't been able to avoid fighting Madara. Because he had killed Madara.

As it turned out, the representative was entirely right about Konoha being at war within a few months.

On the second anniversary of Madara's death—to the very day—Kiri and Kumo mounted a joint attack on the Land of Fire. The Mizukage had been after war all along.

_And sooner or later, the rift between us is going to tear the ninja world in two._

That was what Madara had meant. Wasn't it?

War had begun.

xxxxx


	22. Life Goes On: And All Following Years

A/N: Next to last chapter! Next week, the final chapter's going up. And the week after that, the omake chapter will go up. Fun!

Rather important news: At some point in the future, I'm gonna be posting another long HashiMada fic. I started it last weekend and it's already around 10k words. It's gonna be about five times as angsty as _Man of Dreams_, but the romance will be reciprocated! I can't say when I'll start posting it, because I've got to write it first, and that might take until the end of summer for all I know. But! I _will_ be producing more HashiMada in the future, because seriously, they need more fic.

I hope you guys enjoy, and please remember to review! Thanks!

xxxxx

_Life Goes On_

xxx

**And All Following Years**

The Years He Lost Count Of

xxx

And years passed, and years passed, and years passed.

The war stubbornly refused to end. (The Mizukage—or somebody acting on his behalf—was a bloodthirsty monster. Either that, or he had a personal grudge against Konoha.) At least now Hashirama had a legitimate excuse to get wasted from time to time. Sometimes Tobirama joined him. And sometimes even Sarutobi Sasuke joined.

(Hashirama preferred drinking by himself.)

Sasuke got married and had a kid. Or, more accurately, Sasuke created a kid and got married just in time for the kid to be born. Tobirama never stopped teasing him about it. Sasuke never minded.

(In truth, they weren't sure who had created the kid. Tobirama had broken up with Hiruzen's mother right before she'd gotten involved with Sasuke; that had been roughly nine months before Hiruzen's birth. Really, Hiruzen didn't look much like Sasuke _or_ Tobirama. On the other hand, Tobirama didn't look much like his own family. But for some reason, Hiruzen had darkish skin and darkish hair, like Hashirama. Sometimes genetics work in odd ways; sometimes people don't look like any of their relatives. And sometimes they look more like their uncles than like their fathers. These things happen.)

Hashirama had discovered, during his time as Hokage, that he had a special talent for diplomacy; Tobirama discovered he had a similar power for bureaucracy. So Tobirama organized the village. He established the Konoha Military Police Force, he created ANBU, he started a school system, he initiated exams to promote genin to chuunin. That was a feat of genius, setting up the Chuunin Exams during an _international war_. They went surprisingly well.

Hashirama fought on Konoha's behalf. Everything was the same as it had been, how many years ago? As it had been before Konoha had existed. Except, now he wasn't just fighting to survive the present, or to avenge the past; he was fighting to defend the future. Fighting for the Will of Fire.

He hated the fights. One which he would always remember: a young man, trying to look confident but fighting back terrified tears, who revealed that he'd be executed if he bring Hashirama's heart back to Takigakure. That had been a surprisingly close battle. But not close enough. There was only one person in the world who could defeat Hashirama—and _he_ was gone. Hashirama was an indestructible shield, without an unstoppable sword to balance him out.

Konoha grew; even in war it grew, it flourished. It wasn't perfect, but it was something solid something stable something real. Not an idea, not an experiment, not a vain hope. It was _real_.

It was flawed. But it was beautiful.

xxx

He had promised.

He had promised Madara—to treat his clan fairly, to treat Madara's family like his own family.

And he would do that.

Even during war, he would do that.

And he _was_ doing that.

Byakko came to him on behalf of the Uchiha clan's elders; since Madara's death, the clan had not had a leader, just a council of elders. (Nobody could fill Madara's void.) Byakko said that the clan wanted some, some kind of—memorial, some kind of monument, to remember Madara—and Hashirama had immediately agreed. He was the one who suggested it be a statue; he sculpted as a hobby sometimes, so it was the first thing he thought up. Although he had never before tried to sculpt Madara. He never, ever would. Hashirama did strange, abstract things; he couldn't do Madara justice. But he still thought a statue was a good idea.

He was the one who suggested it be at the Valley of the End. He wasn't the one who suggested it be ridiculously huge, but he had enthusiastically approved of the idea.

Hashirama wasn't the one who suggested a statue of himself go up as well, and he hadn't liked the idea. _That_ had been Tobirama's idea.

The way Tobirama saw it, there was no reason to commemorate Madara, who had been nothing but a sullen, stubborn, scheming lowlife during his entire stint in Konoha. (Tobirama had enough common sense not to say this out loud anywhere near Hashirama.) If they were going to commemorate anything at all, make it the battle. Not the traitor.

Hashirama didn't like that idea. He told anyone who cared to hear that he didn't like that idea. He told some people who _didn't_ care. He especially told the Uchiha elders—who did care—and who understood Hashirama couldn't do much about the situation. He had handed complete leadership of the village over to Tobirama; Hashirama was little more than second-in-command, now, and he did not wield as much power as Madara had wielded as second-in-command.

Hashirama's effective retirement had surprised many people. They had thought that the selection of Hashirama's successor was a symbolic thing—that the message was "Tobirama shall become acting Hokage in the event of my incapacitation or death," not "Tobirama shall become acting Hokage immediately, and I shall step down for him." What most people didn't know was, Hashirama had originally planned on going with the former. His battle with Madara had changed that; Hashirama had returned to Konohagakure feeling incapacitated. Or dead. And so Tobirama had become acting Hokage.

That meant Tobirama had final say on everything. Hashirama was still treated like a Hokage, but his decisions were only valid insofar as they didn't conflict with Tobirama's. They both had executive power, but only Tobirama had veto power. And he was more than ready to use it on this whole memorial thing if Hashirama didn't get a statue, too.

(It wasn't that Tobirama was turning into some kind of unreasonable dictator. And it wasn't that he had any kind of vendetta against the Uchiha clan. He didn't _like_ the Uchiha clan, but he always tried to treat them fairly anyway. He was simly reacting to what he saw as Hashirama's unreasonably lenient attitude toward the Uchiha—the attitude that had allowed the Madara incident to happen.)

So there was nothing Hashirama could do, as he told the Uchiha clan. They could accept the monument as Tobirama wanted it, or not at all. They went with Tobirama's orders.

The monument was actually built by members of the Uchiha clan. As could be seen by anyone who looked at it. Who else but an Uchiha could design the statues as such perfect replicas of the men they represented?

After eighty years of abuse from the waterfall and the weather, the details would fade, the careful touches would erode, to the point where the statues just looked like hasty approximations, rough carvings with smooth features. But when they were first constructed...

Looking at Madara's statue, it was a perfect replica. You could see every strand of his hair. You could see every stitch of his clothing. You could even see his fingerprints. It was a statue of _Madara himself_, so real you could almost imagine that at any moment it would look down upon you, open its brown-gray mouth, and unleash a stream of divine fire. As though, in death, Madara had ascended to godhood.

However, Hashirama's statue looked about the same as it would some eighty years later. They had obeyed Tobirama's order, they had made two statues. Tobirama had never said they had to make the statues equal quality.

For some odd reason, Tobirama was quite annoyed when he saw the final result. Hashirama couldn't imagine whyever that might be so. Why, he and the Uchiha clan were just _thrilled_ with the statues. Especially Madara's.

xxx

It was entirely possible that the only reason Hashirama and Mito had a child was to confuse the people who thought Hashirama couldn't.

That was the joke, at least. In truth, Hashirama wanted kids. Mito was fine with having a child, but Hashirama really, _really_ wanted kids. He _liked_ kids. So much so that he _trained_ himself to sleep with Mito (not—not just sleep with Mito but, uh, "sleep" with Mito) without completely failing in the middle, having to excuse himself, and locking himself in the bathroom for an hour while Mito sat outside and played Go against the Kyuubi. (At least, that's what she claimed to be doing. Hashirama would have believed she was just playing against herself, if it weren't for the fact that she lost so often.)

But he got past that. He could do his duty, he could make it all the way to the end without shuddering, without pulling back, without whispering the wrong name. (At least, he didn't whisper the wrong name often; and even then he was pretty sure Mito didn't hear him.) He couldn't imagine why anyone would do _this_ for any reason other than reproduction. Some man of dreams he was, huh?

He was relieved when he found out Mito was finally pregnant. (As it happened, so was Mito.)

He would have liked to have more than one kid. Heck, he would have been happy with ten kids. He _really_ liked kids. Fortunately for Mito, the possibility of another nine children never came up.

It was about halfway through her ninth and a half month of pregnancy that they concluded that there was a problem. Luckily, they figured it out before she gave birth.

That killed the possibility of more children. It was too risky. At least Hashirama had one. One child, whom he and Mito could both love.

For all the other children he wanted but could never have, he would substitute the village.

xxx

Mito eventually fell in love with Hashirama. They were already the best of friends, and they had a beautiful child, and maybe the sex wasn't great but the sex wasn't that important. She fell in love with him.

For all the same reasons, Hashirama would have fallen in love if he could have. He couldn't. However, he was able to eventually convince himself that he had.

The only experience he'd had with the real thing, he nearly convinced himself had been just a dream.

Nearly, but never entirely.

xxx

There were days when Hashirama thought _he_ was still alive.

Days when he woke up alone to another burning dawn, and stared out the window at the red sunrise sky, and in a half-dream daze believed he was staring at Madara's irises. Days when he passed some pale-skinned black-haired man proudly marching through Konoha's streets, and he did a double-take before realizing it was another Uchiha, just another identical cousin. Days when the heat haze played tricks on his eyes, and he swore he saw Madara—his face, his (beautiful, beautiful) red eyes, his untamable hair—actually saw him, on top of a building, or hidden in the trees, or balanced on a telephone pole, or around the corner in an alley, or perched on the roof of the Hokage Residence, or watching from afar atop the cliff. These visions were as ephemeral as the phantom of a lover, and as welcome as the mirage of an oasis.

But the images always darted away, and Hashirama was left with long, bright days and cold, silent nights.

In the days, the very heat of Konoha reminded him of Madara. It was always a dry heat, a heat that turned leaves brittle and grass yellow, that turned sweat into salt. Surviving Konoha in the height of summer was like surviving battle with Madara, he who burned and burned through obstacles and opponents alike.

And in the nights, the cold reminded him. However, the cold was not something present; it was a void, an emptiness. An absence. A death. Bereft of that midnight fire, that ever-present smoke dissipated forever...

Hashirama preferred the days.

It was on days like that—the days that brought up the most memories—that Hashirama would more and more often be found outside of Konoha, with the governance of the village in the hands of his brother, so that he could go to the Valley of the End. He'd take off his armor and stand under the waterfall as long as he could bear it, as long as he could go without drowning. Just cooling himself down, trying to escape the heat, trying to forget that the last time he had heard the rush of the waterfall had been when Madara died.

And then he would climb on top of his own statue, stare across the river at Madara's—and scream, scream at him, beg him to come home.

Of course, he never did.

xxx

But over time, he could nearly forget.

Nearly but never entirely—but, it was enough. He could go on for days at a time without (consciously) thinking about Madara.

Although he never entirely left his mind. He was always there, somewhere. His Will of Fire was always with Hashirama. (Or so Hashirama believed until he died.)

However, life could go on without Madara.

xxx

Hashirama held up a photograph. "Which one of you did this?"

Sarutobi Sasuke looked as innocent as he could. "Wasn't me," he said. "Must've been To—er, Hokage-sa—uhh, _Nidaime_ Hokage-sama."

"Really."

"Oh, I think I'm needed for an important... mission... thing. Gotta go." He went.

And here Hashirama had thought lying in wait for Sasuke when he went to pick up his kid would be a guaranteed way to trap him. Apparently, he valued his safety more than his son.

Hiruzen walked up to Hashirama. He'd just gotten out of school. "Hi, Habirama-sama." (He still couldn't get Hashirama's and Tobirama's names straight.) "Dad said he'd pick me up today. Is he here yet?"

Hashirama considered telling him that Sasuke had just abandoned him, but he wasn't mean. (That was something _he_ might have said...) "I think I'm picking you up today, Hiruzen-kun."

"Really?" Hiruzen sighed loudly. "Is it just Dad that's in trouble this time, or is it Toshirama-sama too?"

He was a bright kid.

xxx

Hashirama held up a photograph. "Which one of you did this?"

Tobirama looked as innocent as he could. In his Hokage garb, he almost pulled it off. "Wasn't me," he said. "Must've been Sasuke-san."

"Funny, he said the same thing."

"Oh. Really?" Tobirama presented Hashirama with a display of wide-eyed shock. "Well. There must be an impostor."

"An impostor."

"Looks like it."

"In the Land of Water."

"Guess so."

"Imitating you and Sasuke-san."

"Strangest thing."

"Uh-huh."

Tobirama maintained a pretty good poker face. He was getting good at this.

"Fine," Hashirama said. "By the way, you're baby-sitting today."

Hiruzen took that as his cue to come in. "Hi, Toshirama-sama," he said, grinning like he knew just how big an inconvenience he was and couldn't be happier. "Can you help me learn that big firebally move?"

Hiruzen seemed to be dead-set on learning every move in the world. Currently, he was looking for somebody to teach him the Uchiha clan's signature technique. Unfortunately, only the Uchiha clan knew the Uchiha big firebally move, and they didn't teach it to outsiders.

And Tobirama? He certainly didn't know any big firebally moves. Tobirama specialized in big waterfally moves.

Tobirama gave Hashirama a deeply wounded look. "That's not fair."

"Your partner-in-crime abandoned him. Hiruzen-kun's your responsibility now." Hashirama smiled innocently. "Have fun."

xxx

A photograph was posted that afternoon in the Hokage Residence's break room. It was a picture from the Land of Water, with which the Land of Fire was still at war. It featured a sturdy stone bridge, with high stone parapets on both sides.

Painted on the parapet, in enormous black characters of varying thickness, was "SARU**TOBI**RAMA WERE** HERE**." Beneath it was a sloppily-painted Konoha leaf, with a bit too elaborate a spiral.

Taped beneath the photograph was a handwritten note, stating: "_As proud as I am that the brave forces of Konoha can penetrate so deeply into enemy territory without meeting opposition, I suggest that you don't squander this considerable tactical advantage by showing it off to our enemies._"

As amusing as everyone found the note, they had difficulty imagining that Hashirama had written it. It was lightly teasing, probably, but with the right tone, it could be read as something, much more... viciously sarcastic. Derisive. But that wasn't Hashirama's style.

(If anybody had asked, Hashirama would have agreed that he hadn't sounded like himself. For one thing, he wouldn't refer to the Land of Water as "enemy territory" or the Mist ninja as "our enemies." He did not acknowledge them as enemies—he had been against this war, he was still against this war, and so even if they were opponents they were not enemies.)

(He wondered if, perhaps, someone else had been inspiring him to write that letter. Someone with a wry smirk and red, red eyes. And if he had inspired it? Well, then, that was fine. For _he_ could do no wrong.)

When asked where Hashirama had gotten the photograph, he said it had been sent to him by the Nidaime Mizukage. And then waited for that to sink in.

The next time ninja from Konoha made it to that bridge, they reported that the paint had mostly faded. All that was left were the words "TOBI" and "HERE" and a small oval spiral.

xxxxx


	23. Romantic Joins Cynic: The Last Year

A/N: It's past midnight in my time zone, it's totally Friday. _Totally_.

(Note to WitchOfTheWilds: I love replying to reviewers, but I can't do that if you don't give me a FFnet username, or an email address, or an AIM name, or something... and I prefer to not clutter Author's Notes with review replies. That said, to answer your question, I like Madara/Deidara just fine, although it's not one of my big faves. If you haven't seen it already, I've got a MadaDei oneshot posted, but currently all my time and inspiration for chaptered fics is taken up by other projects. But feel free to request a shorter fic if you'd like!)

Here, at last, is the final chapter. Pardon me while I get all sentimental and stuff. I'd like to thank you all so much for sticking with _Man of Dreams_, with poor Hashirama, and with me, for 23 chapters and about half a year. This is the longest thing I've ever written and finished in my life, and I'm glad that I was able to share it here with such awesome folks. (I've made friends through this! I did not expect that!) I hope you all have enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it, posting it, and hearing what y'all have to say about it.

Just another reminder, but the fun isn't entirely over. Next week is the omake chapter, which'll be a grab bag of scenes with a random assortment of fluffiness, sappiness, and goofiness. Probably. I actually haven't written most of them yet, but I've got several planned out. I can guarantee goofiness, though, _that_ has already been written.

And as another reminder, I've now got another long HashiMada fic in the works, which is likely to be even longer than this one. And it isn't even one-sided this time! I can't say when it'll be up, although probably not for quite a while; my best estimate right now is late summer/early fall, but that might be optimistic. Put me on Author Alert if you wanna know when it goes up, and I should be putting up some oneshots between now and then so it'll be worth your time.

So, on to the chapter! I hope you all enjoy it, and if you've got anything to say, any comments to make, any questions to ask, any anything whatsoever, I would absolutely love it if you'd share. Thank you so much!

xxxxx

_Romantic Joins Cynic_

xxx

**The Last Year**

The Year He Joined Madara

xxx

History went on.

Tobirama never married. On the other hand, he spent so much time with Sarutobi Sasuke that people started to jokingly wonder how long it would take before Sasuke's wife realized he was cheating on her. Tobirama responded by putting on an offended expression and saying, "What are you talking about? Sasuke-san would never cheat on me."

Hashirama always wondered how Tobirama brushed those jokes off so easily. If anyone had said the same things about himself and Madara... Hashirama supposed such jokes hurt more when you knew there was some truth to them.

(Hashirama didn't know that, for a little bit, when Madara had been the presumed Nidaime, some people _had_ made similar jokes—not because anyone thought there was truth to them, but because that was just what people did. But Madara had overheard one, and he'd given the speaker such a revolted, livid glare that the jokes had stopped right then. Such jokes hurt more when you knew there was no truth to them.)

It was no surprise when Tobirama took on a team of genin to train, and ensured that one of them was Sasuke's kid, Hiruzen. Whenever Tobirama had a mission, he asked that Hashirama train Hiruzen in his place until he got back. Hiruzen was a pretty bright kid. And Hashirama liked kids. So why not?

Meanwhile, Hashirama's own "family" grew. Perhaps he only fathered one child; but in his mission to treat the Uchiha clan like his own family, it _became_ his family. And once one clan was, then the other clans became so, too. And if they were all a part of Hashirama's family then they were all a part of each other's families. Which basically made all of Konoha one family. Through the Will of Fire (so Hashirama believed—and so he preached), they were all connected to each other. They were all part of each other.

Which, as far as Hashirama was concerned, was just dandy.

(Tobirama informed Hashirama that he thought his whole "village-wide family" thing was just so cute. Really, it was adorable. Hashirama gave him a dark look and asked how his husband was doing.)

He had finally succeeded.

"We all move in together and form a big happy family and never fight again."

He had to thank Madara for the idea. And he had to thank Madara for its success.

(He tended to attribute everything good that had ever happened in his life to Madara. For some reason.)

And history went on.

Hashirama would pass on his fighting abilities to Hiruzen, his brother's best friend's son.

He would pass on his Will of Fire to the entire village, his true family.

(He would pass on his bloodline limit to Yamato and Danzou's arm, and his cells to a masked man calling himself Tobi and one hundred thousand clones named Zetsu, but he never knew about that.)

And he would pass on his personality to his child and his grandchildren: his ability to never stop hoping for a better world, his moral fortitude to use the office of Hokage completely selflessly, his strength of will to deny his love until it was far too late to obtain it, his tendency to deal with grief and heartbreak by abandoning his duties and getting wasted, and his inability to gamble.

And history would repeat itself.

And history went on.

xxx

Hashirama stood atop his statue, staring across at Madara's.

It looked just like him. Except for the fact that it was made out of stone. And there was no soul in its eyes.

Hashirama didn't speak; but he was thinking. It made no difference, either way—Madara couldn't hear him.

_Hello, Madara_.

Below, three other ninja stood waiting. One of Tobirama's recent policies: squads of four, nobody could go alone. People had worried the number might be a jinx. So far, it seemed more to put a jinx on Konoha's enemies, so apparently the policy was a good one.

They were waiting. You didn't question the Shodai Hokage if he wanted to stop at the Valley of the End. They didn't need to hurry to their mission, anyway. They could wait.

_Hello, Madara_. The only answer was the waterfall's roar. _I think this is the last time I'll be here._

He wasn't sure why he thought that. It was just something he _knew_. He could feel it. Maybe it was a ninja's instinct. Maybe it was a warning from the Will of Fire. (Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy.)

It was like something had been closing in on him for years. Ever since the war began. No. Ever since Tobirama had taken office. No. Ever since Mito had sealed the Kyuubi inside herself. No.

Ever since Madara had died.

Yes. Ever since then. Something had been closing in on him.

The end.

So here he was. At the Valley of the End. Ready to face it.

_This is the last time I'll be here._ He could almost imagine Madara was listening. _Madara. I did what I could for our village. And I did what I could for your clan. I'd like to think that you'd be happy, if you could see everything I've done for you._

The statue didn't change.

_But I don't think you would be._

The statue didn't respond.

"I'm sorry," Hashirama murmured. He couldn't even hear himself over the waterfall. It made no difference, either way. "I love you."

After the forthcoming battle, the other three ninja would find a note on top of Hashirama's statue.

Nobody would think it was a suicide note. They would consider it, and then discard the possibility. Certainly, the Shodai Hokage would never...

_Tell my family that I love them._

_Give all my weapons to my brother and leave all my other property with my wife. Give my necklace to my granddaughter._

_Tell my village that I'm still with them in the Will of Fire, and I'll never leave them. Tell them that they were always a part of me, and I will always be a part of them._

_Don't try to avenge my death, because vengeance will never lead to peace._

_Scatter my ashes at the Valley of the End._

All his requests would be honored.

Except for the last. Tobirama would insist Hashirama be buried in Konoha. (To Orochimaru, Danzou, and Yamato's good fortune, and fifty-nine dead babies' misfortune.) Tobirama would never be able to say why, and he would feel vaguely guilty about it forever, but for some reason he could not allow his elder brother to be laid to rest in the Valley of the End.

(On some level, he knew, he knew, it was because that was where Madara died. On some level, he knew, he knew, he didn't want his brother to be with Madara in death. On some level, he knew, he knew, he was protecting his brother from Madara, because Hashirama didn't know how to protect himself.)

The rest of the letter was business. The rest of the letter was formal. Things he had to do, or that someone else had to do for him. The one request that was purely personal, the one thing Hashirama wanted for himself, was the one thing he wasn't allowed to have.

By then, it would be too late for Hashirama to find out.

xxx

Hashirama could still feel him. He knew—he _knew_—Madara was still with him.

He had his Will of Fire, after all. He had Madara's will to carry out. And he was carrying out Madara's will, wasn't he? He was unifying the village, strengthening the village... What made him the most sick was the fact that he hadn't been able to prevent war. But what could he have done? He had done what he could. Or he had tried. Perhaps he had not done enough, perhaps he had failed to try something, perhaps...

(Thoughts like that were why Hashirama still drank.)

But he had Madara's Will of Fire. Calling him, guiding him, helping him, like the collective will of all those who had come and gone before Hashirama. And sometimes... sometimes, he could almost _hear_ him. Sometimes, he could _feel_ him.

Sometimes during the war, in the middle of battle, he could sense his presence—as if he were somewhere nearby, just beyond the next tree, watching, calculating, deciding how to move, what to do, stoic warrior that he was, always watching, always there. Hashirama always seemed to feel his presence just in time to find some enemy, to engage in combat—as if Madara were trying to warn Hashirama, trying to guard him with his presence.

Sometimes when he traveled, when he acted as a diplomat, when he met with the Kage of other villages, he felt like Madara was there. He felt his presence, for example, when he visited with the Shodai Mizukage's representative, when he offered Kirigakure no Sato the Three-Tailed Giant Turtle—and again, when Hashirama was hoping for a treaty, and had to listen, downhearted, as the representative informed him, voice low, face hidden by a mask, that there was no love between Kirigakure and Konohagakure, and that they would never be allies in his lifetime. As Hashirama struggled there, trying to find the words to reason, to persuade, he felt Madara there, his presence as strong as the representative's own.

Sometimes even in the most personal moments, such as when Mito had given birth to their only child; as she writhed in pain, struggling to push a new life into the world and to hold an ancient life in its cage; as Hashirama stood over her, helping as best he could, trying to keep the tailed beast controlled, fearing for her and for their child and for the seal and for the Kyuubi; as three ANBU medic-nin (dog mask, hawk mask, snail mask, Hashirama was so distracted he never got their names) took care of the birth, isolated in a cave where no one else knew where they were... He had felt Madara then, as if he were watching, as if he were waiting, as if he were helping. And when he mentioned it later, Mito said she had felt him, too. In the moment she had looked upon their baby's face for the first time (held out to her by one of the ANBU—the one in the snail mask?) she had felt as though he were standing right beside her.

Sometimes when Hashirama visited the Valley of the End, when he stood upon his own statue to stare across at Madara's, he felt as though maybe the statue had been alive a moment ago, as though maybe the spirit of the man it represented had stood upon it, stared across the water at Hashirama's statue, and had only fled just in time to avoid detection—but had left behind some disturbance, some warmth, some scent, some presence... And Hashirama felt it, he always did, and he almost thought then that if he spoke, Madara would hear him, would come out, would come back, would answer...

It was a comfort, feeling Madara from time to time, anywhere, everywhere. Hashirama knew—he _knew_—that Madara was watching him. His Will of Fire was now Hashirama's, and if he felt Madara's spirit most strongly in the moments when he was undergoing the greatest trials, it was because those were the moments when he most needed Madara.

His presence gave Hashirama the strength he needed. The strength and skill to return from every battle triumphant. The strength and patience to continue hoping for peace between all the villages. The strength and courage to endure the most hellish moments in his life and come out the better for them. The strength and determination to go on without Madara.

xxx

So was it really so strange, really so unusual, really so unnatural, if he felt Madara most strongly in those moments of greatest adversity? After all, they had met and bonded on the battlefield. The thread that bound them together had been spun in rivalry and tied in combat.

Madara would always be with him in the moments when they were most in sync.

After all, when they were on the battlefield, only on the battlefield...

They had known how to respond to each other, how to move as _one_, how to compliment each other. Perfectly.

Each had known—as no one else in the world could know—how the other one moved. Each had known how the other's muscles pulled, strained, trembled. Each had known the other at his very best, breathing hard, limbs shaking, muscles aching, that unending and exhausting and intoxicating rhythm, the dance of battle that existed for them alone.

Each had known the other's skin, his hair, his eyes. Each had known how to make the other murmur, how to make the other moan, how to make the other scream himself hoarse. Each had known the sound of the other's breathing as well as he knew his own.

They had known each other thoroughly, consummately, and intimately.

They had known each other as well as they knew themselves.

On the battlefield.

And it was on the battlefield most frequently that Hashirama felt his spirit. Was that really so unnatural?

And at the end...

In battle, low clouds hanging in the sky, two squads of four, one of Konoha, one of Kiri (just like that day, that one day, that first day Madara had spoken to him), was it really so strange, if...

And as the battle progressed and he found himself losing—and it was as though that masked ninja knew his every move, that masked ninja understood him intimately, and Hashirama found himself slipping into that old dance in response—was it really so strange if...

And as he found himself losing, losing as the battle progressed, losing—and as he tried to see his enemy's eyes and thought he saw a flash of hateful, beautiful red (just like that stranger with fiery eyes, so young, too young), just before the masked ninja reached out and got his fingers tangled in his long hair and pulled him down to his hands, down to his knees—was it really so strange if...

Oh, please, _please_, let it be, let him be...

... Was it really so strange, even now, even at his end, even when it was impossible...

(He closed his eyes, felt the sting of a blade and kicks and jabs and attack after attack and fire and fire and fire and it all felt so _amazing_ and)

(He closed his eyes, he too would join the Will of Fire, he too would join Madara)

Was it really so strange for Hashirama to feel as though he were closer to Madara than he had ever been in life?

Was it really so strange for Hashirama to still have that same obsession?

xxx

_**Man of Dreams**_

**The End**

xxxxx


	24. The Omake Chapter

A/N: The omake! Coming in at over ten thousand words! I feel like I should explain what all this is.

The first scene is a mini-fic that I wrote while I was writing the last few chapters of Man of Dreams. At that point, the fic was so thoroughly depressing me that I decided to just sit down and write something unremittingly stupid (and I mean _really_ stupid) and non-angsty as fast as possible, just to take a break from the misery. The "reviews" in front of it came when I started showing the mini-fic to friends and we started up making up dumb things to make the mini-fic sound fancier than it really was. It's all nonsense, don't take it too seriously.

The next scene is the first scene of the fic I've promised y'all, the one that's going to actually be mutual HashiMada. (Unless, of course, I change my mind later and something else becomes the first scene of that fic.) So, just a tiny preview. That fic's going to have nothing to do with _Man of Dreams_; it's not a sequel or anything like that. It's just more HashiMada. Not that you can really tell from the preview scene, so just trust me on that. And even though the current working title of the fic is _This Impure World_, don't worry, that doesn't mean anybody's an Impure World Resurrection zombie, everybody's alive. I've got a few more details on that fic in my profile.

The next five scenes are alternate versions of scenes in _Man of Dreams_. (Each one's labeled with the chapter that the scene originally came from.) That means they start out pretty much the same as the original scenes, before they veer off in a new direction. They're not in chronological order, they're just in whatever order I felt like putting them. I should point out that these scenes are basically pure fanservice/wish-fulfillment. They're not necessarily, "It _could_ have ended up this way"; they're just "It would have been really really _really_ nice if it had happened this way, wouldn't it?" So, don't necessarily take any of these as an indication of how, for example, Madara actually felt about Hashirama. (Unless, you know, you _want_ to take it that way. I just ain't gonna confirm or deny either way.)

So, that's that. I hope you guys enjoy the omake—and I hope it'll help to make up for some of the misery of the rest of the fic, haha.

And thank you all again for sticking with _Man of Dreams_, all the way to the bittersweet end. I really appreciate all of your comments and reviews, and I'm glad you all have enjoyed it so much. I look forward to posting the next fic—hopefully in a few months—and hopefully hearing from you guys again. So please enjoy, and thanks one final time for being such great folks.

xxxxx

_The Omake Chapter_

xxxxx

A bonus for those who suffered through the rest of this.

_**Man of Dreams**_**: the Omake**

or

_Happy-Happy Sunny-Sunny Rabu-Rabu Super Sexy Lovetimes_

xxx

A POIGNANT TALE!

From the editor: "A masterwork of literature, it is a beautiful story of the triumph of love over adversity. It brings up biting questions of morality, and subtly muses upon the state of our world and its social norms. But at its heart, it is a poignant tale, capable of touching readers of all ages, chronicling the heart-moving emotional journey of two dudes who are totally in love."

RAVE REVIEWS!

"Oh, yes, I suppose it has a developed plot arc. It possesses a beginning, middle, and ending. It is indeed a well-structured story." —Sai

"It was kinda weird! I think it was funny!" —Konohamaru

"Whatever." —Shikamaru

"I am honored and blessed to have been one of the first to have an opportunity to read this work. Unquestionably, this is a literary masterpiece. It is accessible enough to be understood and beloved by many, and yet has enough depth to provoke deep analysis for generations to come. The likes of this shall not be seen for another hundred thousand years, at best. Reading this story is truly like glimpsing into the mind of a god of art. What? No, I don't accept checks, if you don't pay me in cash for this review I'm taking your heart." —Kakuzu

"What is this crap? _I_ could've written it _way_ better than this!" —Jiraiya

"What is this crap? _I_ could've written it _way_ better than this!" —Naruto

"I will murder the author." —Madara

AND NOW, PRESENTING...

**THE OMAKE!**

xxx

Once upon a time there was a dude called Hashirama and another dude called Madara and they were in love and it was great. Even though they were both dudes and that kinda freaked Hashirama out. He got over it because that's how the power of love works. Better than two years in therapy. No lie.

They weren't always in love. At the start of things Madara kind of hated Hashirama's guts, because he's a bit of a prick like that. However, Hashirama pretty much thought Madara was the sex from the start, and as far as he's concerned that's basically all you need to be in love, so for all intents and purposes he was in love from the start.

So then one day Hashirama was just so freaked because he thought Madara might die or something if they kept having to fight and stuff. (The author has neglected to mention that Hashirama and Madara were on opposite sides of a war. Actually they were on opposite sides of a lot of wars. Hence why Madara hated Hashirama.) So Hashirama decided to make this village with Madara so they wouldn't have to fight and stuff. Madara was totally suspicious of Hashirama's motives because who wouldn't be? The dudes were enemies and Madara didn't know Hashirama thought he was the sex, so he thought Hashirama was gonna backstab him or something like that.

Which is totally what he thought happened when Hashirama got elected leader of this new village, so he went "Dude, you jerk, I'm gonna run off and like destroy your village or something, 'cause you were planning on backstabbing me."

So Hashirama went "Wait! I never meant to do that! I didn't know I was gonna get elected. And I never wanted to backstab you, I just think you're the sex. Love me please?"

Madara did not go "Holy noodles, I love you too! Let us now go find another way to 'backstab' each other if you catch my drift wink wink nudge nudge." Because he's a bit of a jerk. He actually went "That's a little weird dude, I mean I don't even like you. But I guess you're not gonna backstab me if you think I'm the sex, so I guess I'll hang around a while and make sure you don't mess up this village." So he hung around and made sure Hashirama didn't mess up that village.

And after a while he went "Dude, this Hashirama guy is like super nice to me. And since I am a jerk and I have an ego the size of the Ten-Tails—I mean the moon, I think it's totally hot when people worship the ground I walk on." So he totally fell in love with Hashirama because it was like, hey, he could get fawned on 24/7. And Hashirama was all like super excited because it was like, hey, he could fawn on Madara 24/7. Everybody's happy.

So then Madara went "Dude, so wanna move in together so we can do sexy sexy things like all the time?" And Hashirama went "Dude, how 'bout we do one better and get married?" And then Madara went "Dude, that's not even legal." And then Hashirama went "Dude, I rule this village, I could totally make it legal." And then Madara went "Dude, that'd just be weird. Let's just live in sin, sin is sexier." So they moved in together and lived in sexy sexy sin. But Hashirama gave Madara his super fancy necklace and pretended it was like a marriage necklace or something because that made him feel better. And Madara totally wore it because that thing was worth like a fortune, so Madara was basically wearing a fortune on a string around his throat, and seriously, folks, it doesn't get much hotter than that.

Meanwhile there was a babe named Mito and she went "I was gonna marry Hashirama, but his bro Tobirama is totally more the bomb." So she married Tobirama and everybody was happy forever except Izuna who died before the story started.

**The End**

xxx

P.S. Okay, so maybe Izuna actually is happy but he's still dead. He's chilling with the Sage of the Six Paths. The dude's legit. No lie.

P.P.S. If you ask them which one tops, they'll just make something up. Imagine whatever you want. You're probably right.

**The End, for real this time.**

Seriously, you've suffered enough.

xxxxx

_**Untitled Work-In-Progress Fic: "This Impure World"**_

_Preview Scene_

_xxx_

"_What are you doing here?_"

The hiss came from the darkness just behind Hashirama's ear; if he turned, he was sure he would see the god of death behind him. It was a hiss from the wrong side of the grave.

Hashirama knew that voice.

"Madara-sama?"

The chain holding Hashirama—trapping one hand against his chest, wrenching the other behind his back—wasn't all that strong. He could have snapped it in a second, he could have caught the chain-wielder (_Uchiha Madara?_) in a tree...

But if he did, he was sure, then that hiss, that voice from the wrong side of the grave, would vanish, the way a ghost vanishes when you turn on the lights.

It had been fifteen years.

The man, the ghost pulled tighter on the chain, as if hoping that if he were insistent enough, the chain might somehow become strong enough to actually hold Hashirama. The ghost didn't respond to the name.

Hashirama barely noticed the chain. Insistently, he asked, "Is it you?" His voice was as soft as the ghost's. The last thing he wanted was to scare him off.

"I asked you a _question_," the ghost snarled; those words from the wrong side of the grave were just inches from Hashirama's ear, inches from the corner of his eye. "What are you doing here!"

Hashirama _knew_ that voice. And yes, he knew the feel of that chakra, he knew...

Wait. Did ghosts have chakra? "Is that... are you... Are you _alive?_"

The ghost-or-whatever lost patience. Hashirama reacted to defend himself before he consciously realized there was a kunai swinging for his throat. He jerked away, snapped the chain, twisted around and blindly grabbed for his attacker's shoulders as vines twisted up from the ground to grab at the attacker's ankles—

And the attacker vanished. Hashirama never even touched him. Just like a ghost, leaving behind nothing but a broken chain and disappointment.

A fraction of a second later the ghost was using the broken chain to strangle him.

A thin branch squeezed against Hashirama's throat to tear the chain off. He once again snatched at the ghost and once again missed; his momentum caused him to land on something that gave beneath his foot, and he stumbled. Before he could regain his balance, the ghost's knee drove into his back (and that could not possibly be a ghost) and forced him to the ground. A chain around his wrists, and a knee in his spine, and a kunai against his throat. Hashirama tensed his shoulders, ready to jerk free.

And once again, from the wrong side of the grave, the ghost spoke:

"Did you _have_ to wreck my bookcase?" he grumbled.

Bookcase. Ghosts didn't talk about bookcases. Hashirama thought. Or he was pretty sure. Maybe. Close enough.

This wasn't a ghost?

"You're alive." It was no longer a question. It was a pure dumbfounded declaration. "How long have you been alive?"

For a moment, there was silence.

And then, sarcastically: "Oh, I don't know, I keep losing track of my birthdays. You'll have to ask my mother."

That was _not_ what Hashirama had meant. But upon further reflection, what he _had_ meant was just as stupid. "Just tell me. Please. Madara-sama, is it really you?"

The silence went on and on, long enough that Hashirama began to adjust to the dark; he could now distinguish between black, and blacker black. "Yes."

Yes. _Yes_. Yes yes_ yes—_

Hashirama let his shoulders relax, let the side of his face sink to the ground. "Then do what you want with me." He could feel the kunai's blade against his throat. He shut his eyes.

If it was Madara, if it was _Madara_, the man with whom Hashirama had founded Konohagakure no Sato—then he deserved to do whatever he wanted to Hashirama.

Silence again. For so long. All Hashirama could feel was the kunai, still, then almost trembling, then barely barely pressing harder harder—

And then gone. Along with the chain and the knee on his back. (The moment the kunai was gone, Hashirama wondered what in the world had driven him to endanger himself like that; and then he decided he'd wonder later.) Hashirama pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet, looking wildly around for a shadow shaped like a person. For a moment, he was sure Madara had vanished again.

"Fine. I'll bite."

Hashirama turned toward the sound of the voice, somewhere near the doorframe. From the shadows, he almost imagined he could see two glimmers of red... but he didn't.

"But this had better be a damn good story," Madara said. "And now—for the _third_ time—to what, oh Hokage-_sama_, do I owe the honor of your presence?"

"I..." Hashirama's mind went blank. Something about tailed beasts. Something about the war. Something about a roof covered in leaves. "I was..." His brain was no longer functioning. It was busily trying to rewrite fifteen years worth of history, fifteen years of insistence that Madara was gone, was dust, was a phantom if he was anything at all. His brain didn't have time to waste answering questions.

"Well?" Madara was starting to sound (even more) impatient.

Hashirama swallowed hard. "It was an accident."

"Really," Madara said.

Hashirama nodded, then wondered if Madara could see it. Knowledge he hadn't needed for fifteen years, moving slow with age and disuse, fought its way to the surface of his mind, to remind him that Madara most definitely _could_ see him through the dark.

"Well, that confirms it," Madara muttered. "The world itself personally hates me." Hashirama heard him trudge from the room to the hall.

Hashirama wondered what in the world Madara had to complain about. As far as he was concerned, five minutes ago, Madara had been dead.

Suddenly, the world didn't seem to be quite as cruel a place.

Hashirama followed Madara down the hall.

xxxxx

_Hits the Fan_

_Nidaime Hokage_

xxx

Well into the afternoon but long before evening, Hashirama finally gave up trying to continue work, snuck somebody's bottle of sake out of the Hokage Residence's break room, told the guards who'd have the night shift that he didn't want to be bothered until morning, locked himself in his room, and got smashed.

He meant to drink about half the bottle. He downed the whole thing.

This time around, he wasn't quite as drunk. Consequently, he wasn't quite as hung over the next morning.

Being a ninja, he was completely capable of hiding his discomfort as he stood before his village in the bright, bright sunlight (thank goodness for the wide hat that went with his Hokage robes), and announced the name of the Nidaime Hokage.

Being a ninja, he was easily able to resist the urge to flinch when his eardrums were attacked by a village's worth of exuberant cheers.

Being a ninja, he was just barely able to make his queasy way to his office, lock the door, and lay his head down on his desk, before he began quietly crying into his arms.

He didn't even know why he was crying.

Maybe he'd just stay in there the whole day. The village didn't need him today, it could go bother the new Nidaime if it wanted something. He'd just wait for the day to be over. He'd barely woken up and he was already exhausted.

So. He'd stay in his office, door locked. Feeling nauseous and drained and miserable. He'd done his part. He'd done what he had to do.

He was finished.

He had been in his office for mere minutes before Uchiha Madara flung the door wide open.

He barely had time to sit up before Madara was towering over him, eyes bright, in that sarcastic way of his saying, "A moment of your time if you're not too terribly busy, oh Hokage-sama!"

What? _What?_ For a moment, a horror-stricken moment, Hashirama was sure he had given the wrong name—that when he had been called upon to name the Nidaime Hokage, he had opened his mouth and without even thinking without even hearing had named someone other than Madara, just in desperation pulled some name out of the crowd...

But no, no, Madara was smiling. He was just being sarcastic because he was Madara and that was what he did, not because he was angry—and he was _smiling_. Oh, hells, was he ever smiling. Hashirama completely lost track of reality for a moment as he drank in Madara's face—that smile, that smile, that bright beautiful smile and his eyes, Hashirama could honestly say he had never, never seen Madara so happy, for the first time there was nothing angry, nothing guarded, nothing distrustful in his beautiful beautiful red eyes, they simply overflowed with joy and relief and gratitude—and Hashirama, _Hashirama_ had made him so happy...

He rubbed his eyes, partially to distract himself, partially to wake himself, and partially to wipe away his tear streaks. "Yeah?"

"I didn't think you'd have the nerve!" Madara said. "You, a _Senju!_ I honestly didn't think you would go through with it! You really meant it, _all_ of it. All that stuff you said about peace and hope and, and teamwork, and love, and alliance... I don't _believe_ it." He nearly sounded like he was laughing. "You're the real deal after all, Senju Hashirama."

Hashirama had nearly started feeling good about himself until Madara used the word _love_, at which point his stomach gave a sickening lurch that wasn't at all helped by his still-throbbing hangover. But he gave Madara a smile that he hoped didn't look as painful as it felt. "Who else could I have chosen?" he asked. "You're the only one for the job, Madara-sama."

Madara's grin twitched wider for a moment, but then faded. "You're not looking that great, you know," he said. For a moment, Hashirama thought (hoped) that maybe Madara was actually concerned about him; he had a worried look in his eyes.

"No, I'm fine." He rubbed his eyes again, for all the good it would do. His eyes were probably nearly as red as Madara's, bloodshot as they must be; and there were probably shadows under his eyes and still tear streaks down his cheeks. "Just waiting for someone to come assassinate me, now that I'm obsolete." (Madara snorted in amusement; Hashirama was weakly pleased.)

That wasn't the truth. He was waiting for someone to figure him out, for the whispers to start, asking, _why did he really choose Uchiha Madara?_ Asking, _why does Hashirama seem to be so obsessed with Madara?_ Asking, _is there more than just politics behind the decision, is there maybe some emotion...?_

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" Madara asked.

Ah. So that was why he looked so concerned. "No, no, of course not. Not about _you_," Hashirama said. He managed a wry smile (and a wince). "I just regret having thought I needed to down a whole bottle of sake last night to work up the nerve."

At that point, he felt he was adequately justified in putting his head on his arms again. Which was good timing, because Madara burst out laughing. It would have been a much more wonderful sound if it hadn't felt like a million swords stabbing his eardrums. (But it was still a pretty wonderful sound.) "Were you really that against handing Konoha over to your old rival Uchiha Madara-sama?"

Hashirama couldn't tell from his tone whether he was joking, or whether the question genuinely bothered him. "Never for a second," he mumbled, and raised his head just enough so he could speak a bit more clearly and look Madara in the eyes. "You are, and always have been, the only person I even considered choosing. I can't possibly imagine anybody else as the Nidaime Hokage."

Which was why he'd had to choose Madara. No matter what people might eventually think about Hashirama for it, no matter what it was going to do to his reputation. _His_ reputation no longer mattered. If he had to, if he was figured out and his reputation was destroyed and he lost all credibility, he could now step down and let Madara take complete control, and then everyone would see that the choice had been right. Madara deserved to lead Konoha, and Konoha deserved to have Madara as its leader.

Hopefully. Unless all that was just what Hashirama wanted to be true, what he had convinced himself was true. But, he had to believe that choosing Madara had been right. He had no choice but to believe.

He lowered his head again. "It's everyone else I'm worried is going to be against it."

"Hmm..." (Hashirama could hear Madara walking around his desk, coming to stand behind it.) "Apparently, I'm a bit more popular than either of us suspected," he said. "There haven't been any riots yet."

"That's a good sign."

"And your approval rating has skyrocketed in the Uchiha clan."

"Glad to hear it."

They were both silent a moment.

Madara suddenly clapped a hand on Hashirama's shoulder, almost startling him out of his skin. (_Madaratouchinghim_) "What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked sharply. "In your condition, you shouldn't be in your office. Come on." He started trying to tug Hashirama to his feet.

He awkwardly stood, and Madara pulled him toward the door. "Okay?" he said. (_Madara's hand on his arm, Madara's arm around his arm, oh wonderful!_) "Where should I be?"

"Resting! You've got a Nidaime Hokage, he can take care of things today!" Madara opened the door, grandly swept Hashirama's hat off his head, and used it to gesture out the doorway. "Go take a nap. You look horrible."

"Thanks. I think," Hashirama said. "You're sure you don't want me around today, Madara-sama?" Headache or not, Hashirama would have loved watching Madara during his first day as Hokage. (He would have loved watching Madara any day at all, but he had a feeling he'd be getting quite a few more smiles out of Madara today.)

"I'm quite sure I _don't_ want you around. You wouldn't want Konoha to think its newest leader needs his predecessor to walk him through his duties, would you?" Madara asked. He gave Hashirama a mock-serious look and added, "And you can't keep calling me 'Madara-sama.' I'm a bit higher-ranked than that now."

"Of course. My apologies, Hokage-sama," Hashirama said, smiling (and trying not to smile _too_ widely). "I didn't mean to disparage your high rank."

"I am certain you didn't," Madara said grandly. "See that it doesn't happen again." He turned and strode back into the Hokage's office, holding the Hokage hat behind his back.

Hashirama turned to watch him. "You know, Hokage-sama, we can't go around calling each other the same thing," he said. "Don't you think that would get a bit confusing?"

"Confusing for whom?" Madara asked. "I think most people would be able to figure out that if you say 'Hokage-sama' you're talking about me and vice versa." Unless, of course, Madara was talking about himself in third person. But before Hashirama had to point that out, Madara quickly asked, "Do you have any alternatives? _Other_ than continuing to call me 'Madara-sama'?"

"Well," Hashirama said (carefully, nervously), "You could just call me 'Hashirama.'"

Madara quirked an eyebrow at him—as if that surprised him, as if he actually couldn't quite believe it. But then he gave him a half smile. "All right then, Hashirama-sama." (Never before had Hashirama thought the sound of his own name was so beautiful.) Madara turned around, and strolled behind the Hokage's desk. "And now, I believe I ordered you out of this office to get some bed rest?" He pulled out the chair, regarded it admiringly for a moment, and then sat down. "You have nothing to worry about. Today, the Nidaime Hokage Uchiha Madara-sama is in charge." He grinned like a little kid with a matchbook, a firecracker, and no parental supervision.

Hashirama bowed, ignoring the way that made his head swim. "Then I won't disturb you any longer, Hokage-sama." He stepped outside, and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Oh, one more thing, Hashirama-sama."

He opened the door again. "Yes?"

Madara had put Hashirama's hat on. It looked so perfectly in place, framing Madara's face like that. And its dull red made Madara's eyes look even brighter.

"I just wanted to tell you," Madara said, "you did an excellent job on the selection." But his eyes said something different: _thank you_.

And so Hashirama said, "You're welcome."

xxxxx

_Like Schoolgirl Gossip_

_Half-Niece's Hair_

xxx

It was then that a woman started approaching them from the opposite direction. Hashirama never would have noticed her on a normal day; he hadn't thought Madara would have, either.

As the woman got closer, Madara, who had very slightly turned his gaze to follow her, started rotating his Sharingan.

As she drew level and passed them, Madara paused, turned, slowed for a second, glanced at her from behind; and a moment later faced forward and resumed his pace, Sharingan slowing again.

Meanwhile, Hashirama had completely lost track of the topic at hand. Had Madara actually just...? No, he wasn't the kind of guy to... Plus, it had been so subtle, but... What else could he have been...?

"Do you know her?"

Madara gave him a blank look. "'Her'?" And then comprehension. He smiled, so slightly that only someone who lived to see Madara smile would notice it (Hashirama noticed it), and then looked forward again. "Yes," he said. "Why do you ask, Hokage-sama?"

Oh. What did he say? He could hardly say that he thought Madara had been eyeing her and he wanted him to confirm or deny. "I just, uh, noticed her go by—"

"You were watching her?"

"I wasn't—well, I mean, I _saw_ her—"

"What do you think?"

"Uh," he said eloquently. "She... looks nice. Doesn't she?"

"I see," Madara said. And then his smile grew into a wicked smirk. "She's my half-niece."

Hashirama's thoughts, in order of appearance:

Oh hell, Madara thinks I was eyeballing his half-niece?

Wait. Madara was eyeing his _own_ half-niece?

... What the hell is a half-niece!

(How long was her hair?)

But whatever insane thing was going on here, Hashirama was _not_ about to let Madara think that he was eyeing _Madara's_ half-niece, and so before Madara could speak again, he blurted out, stupidly, "I was just—" just, just, just _what, think of something_— "wondering how long her hair was."

Oh.

Oh, that.

That was moronic. Hashirama was a moron.

Madara stared at him, eyebrow cocked, in utter bafflement. Hashirama stared back, mouth clamped shut.

A moment later, though, Madara's smirk returned. "Not quite as long as yours, Senju." Then he continued on toward the Hokage Residence, as though nothing had happened.

And Hashirama trailed along beside him, half-dazed and wondering _what_ Madara had meant by _THAT._ And oh, Hashirama hadn't realized his heartbeat could get that fast outside of battle—although really it had only ever seemed to get that fast when he was battling with Madara so, maybe it was a Madara thing.

What was wrong with him. This was silly. He was being silly.

Did this mean Madara liked his hair?

He didn't consciously notice it (although unconsciously oh yes he did), but for the rest of the walk back to the Hokage Residence, Madara never quite stopped smiling.

xxxxx

_Still Love You_

_Snail Mask_

xxx

After the battle, Hashirama was in shock.

He was in shock when his backup, the Hyuuga and Yamanaka, came to move him from the battlefield in case the Kyuubi escaped; it was trapped in a living cage made by Wood Release trees, locked shut with an immense scroll of Uzumaki seals.

He was in shock when Tobirama showed up with what seemed like half the village, to do what they could to reinforce the Kyuubi's seals until an Uzumaki arrived, and to search for whatever was left of Madara.

He was in shock as he was treated for his injuries, as an ANBU in a snail mask gently brushed his stray hairs from his head and cleaned his torn flesh from his wounds, and as he was led to a tent and told to get some sleep. He didn't sleep.

He was in shock when the tent flap was tugged aside in the middle of the night, long enough for the ANBU in the snail mask to slip inside and crouch beside him.

He was in shock when the ANBU started whispering to him. He knew he was in shock because otherwise, he would not have thought that this ANBU's whispered voice sounded just like Madara's.

"Were you telling him the truth?" he asked.

Hashirama thought for a long, long moment. His brain was not functioning at its best. "No. I was probably lying," he confessed. "What are we talking about?"

"You told Uchiha Madara-sama that you were in love with him," the ANBU said. "Was that true?"

Hashirama was so in shock that he didn't even wonder how this ANBU would know. "Yes. It was," he said. "It is. I am."

"_Really_."

"Yes." He looked down at his hands, dimly lit by a single low lamp. The tent was dark. Hashirama wondered where Madara was.

Oh. Right.

"Then why, if you _loved_ him so much—" his voice was a furious hiss, as loud as could be allowed in the tent without somebody outside hearing— "didn't you name him _Hokage_?"

Hashirama stared at his hands. Wondering. Why didn't he? "I couldn't."

"You _couldn't!_" the ANBU said. "You couldn't. You _couldn't_. Well, sure! Of course! Isn't that just..." He balled a hand into a fist, pounded it into the other. His voice was trembling, his limbs were trembling—with rage, with exhaustion. He sounded worn out. An ANBU's life, Hashirama supposed, must be hard.

And then he let out a long, frustrated sigh. Ran his fingers through his hair, which was only a few inches long and looked like it had been hacked off with a kunai. Hashirama suddenly found his hair fascinating. Amazing. The color, it was, it was like... well... well, it was like something dark, was what it was like.

"No. I suppose you couldn't, could you?" the ANBU said. "There's always... politics. Isn't there?"

Hashirama nodded dully. "And... reputations to protect."

"There's things a Senju can't do for an Uchiha. And things he can't say to an Uchiha unless he's trying to kill him." He sounded weary. World-weary. "And so... here we are."

"Yes..." Yes, they certainly were here. Weren't they? And where was Madara, anyway?

Oh. Right.

But... wasn't he right here?

Neither spoke for a moment. Hashirama stared flatly at the ANBU, his snail-shell-spiral mask, his hair the color of... of... smoke, he supposed. Black smoke.

"And I suppose," the ANBU's whisper was even softer, "there are things an Uchiha can't say to a Senju."

Hashirama stared at the mask's eyehole. It was black.

"Even if the Senju already said it first."

There was silence.

And then the ANBU shifted, moving closer. Hashirama didn't move away. "It's an awful world we live in. Isn't it, Senju?"

Hashirama nodded, and dropped his gaze back to his hands. It was a world where you were forced to use your own two hands to kill the person you loved most. A world where you had to kill him _because_ you loved him.

He was in shock throughout this conversation.

He was in shock when the ANBU placed a hand on one of Hashirama's, and when he heard the soft, soft sound of a mask sliding up onto hair.

He was in shock when he felt the soft, soft touch of lips against his cheek.

"I'll find a way to change that world. I promise."

He was in shock when the ANBU pulled his mask back in place, and turned to leave the tent, and drew the flap up to leave.

And that

is when he woke.

"Madara-sama!" He reached out, grabbed a wrist, held on as tight as he could. "Don't—"

He quickly pulled the flap down and turned to slap a hand over Hashirama's mouth. "_Quiet!_ Do you want everyone's attention?" he hissed. "You have _no idea_ how much scrutiny your tent is under right now, it's a miracle they let me in without a strip-search." He sounded terrified. That was wrong, Madara never sounded terrified. "Half the village is out there, Senju, and I think it's going to be a day or two until I'll be up to fighting that many people. Unless you feel like giving me my pet fox back." At least that was his sense of humor.

Hashirama stared at the mask, stared into its eyehole, trying, trying to see, just a glimmer of red, just a hint, just enough to know for sure...

Slowly, Madara pulled his hand back from Hashirama's mouth. (Wait wait _wait_, that had been Madara's _hand_ on Hashirama's _mouth_—) "Welcome back to the land of the living, Senju," Madara said dryly, still whispering. "Here I was beginning to think I'd permanently broken you."

"Well," Hashirama said, still reeling, still trying to reconcile this, _this_, with the image of Madara dying, shock in his eyes, sword in his chest— "Well... you fixed me." He reached for him with both hands, one on his shoulder one on his mask—Madara flinched back, but then froze, forcibly relaxed, let Hashirama touch him (touch him!)—and he cupped his hand around Madara's masked face, pressed his thumb to the point where there should have been a second eyehole but there was only solid clay, to push the mask closer to his face, to try to see through the eyehole...

And there. There. There, oh heavens, there, a glimmer of red, and _there_, oh beautiful, beautiful, _beautiful_ Sharingan, it could be no one else.

"Madara_._" His vision swam with tears. "How did you..." Actually, he didn't care. He wrapped an arm behind his back and a hand behind his head and pulled him close and oh yes yes _yes_—

Mask.

And then Madara shoved him off. "_Senju_."

And then the question started again, _what's wrong with me wrong with me wrong with me_— "I-I'm, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't—"

And then Madara pressed a hand over his eyes, pressed him down to the ground, and pressed his lips to his lips.

Madara's lips truly did feel like fire, and his mouth truly did taste like smoke.

More specifically:

His lips were too hot, overheated, feverish. His mouth tasted bitter and dry.

Not that Hashirama was particularly picky, at the moment. He had just about been overloaded by all the surprises he could handle, _Madara was alive_ and _Madara was kissing him_, and right now what little brain power he had to spare was trying to process those two facts, while the majority of his brain was trying to keep up with whose tongue was doing what where and, in fact, which was which. But, when he had a moment to analyze, when he could draw a conclusion:

Madara wasn't well. He was sick, or he was injured, and he wasn't well. And it was because of the battle. It was because of Hashirama.

And there was nothing Hashirama could do about it.

He could only hope that something in this was making Madara happy. He could only wrap his arms around Madara's back, and feel the heat radiating off his feverish skin through his clothes, and let Madara put his dry dry hands over his eyes and on his face, and hope, and hope that at least he could make Madara happy.

When Madara drew back, he kept his hand over Hashirama's eyes until he had his mask back on. He wondered, distantly, what he was hiding.

Madara promised that, one way or another, he would find a way to achieve that peaceful world. Hashirama promised that Madara would always, always be welcome to come back to Konoha. Madara promised that he never, ever would.

Hashirama asked how he'd find Madara again, after this.

Instead of answering, Madara left.

It took a good half hour for Hashirama to fully realize what had just happened.

He was in shock when Tobirama came to check on him the next morning. For an entirely different reason.

xxxxx

_Marriage and Successors_

_Mito's Letter_

xxx

While Mito was back in Uzushiogakure, Hashirama received an inquiry from the Uzumaki clan. It was in Mito's handwriting and addressed to Madara, asking about the Uchiha clan's practices of arranged marriage—for purposes of political alliance, of course. Hashirama's heart sank as he read the letter; but he dutifully passed it on to Madara.

A few days later, Madara presented a letter to Hashirama, to send to the Uzumaki clan. It was barely on the polite side of a written sneer. The Uchiha clan did not _do_ marriages outside the Uchiha clan, arranged or otherwise, for whatever reason, under any circumstances, forever and ever, the end, period. Hashirama felt relieved.

Later that afternoon, while passing him on the way to some other errand, Madara stopped to ask whether Hashirama had sent the letter yet. He assured Madara that he had. (He had sent it as quickly as he possibly could.)

"Good," Madara said. "Do you know why Mito-san wrote me?" Just from the look on his face, it seemed like the letter had bothered Madara even more than it had Hashirama.

"No," Hashirama lied. He knew better than to admit that he'd been snooping in Madara's mail.

"She was asking about _marriage_." He said _marriage_ with the same tone and expression with which other people might say _sibling incest_. "Did she really think an Uchiha would ever marry an outsider?"

"I suppose so," Hashirama said, guiltily enjoying the fact that Madara was so outraged at the idea of marrying Mito and quietly ignoring the fact that he was equally outraged at the idea of marrying _anybody_ outside his clan.

"And not just any outsider, but an Uzumaki," Madara continued. "Who are not only descended from the _wrong_ son, but are one of the weakest clans to branch off from that lineage!"

Hashirama just nodded, trying to remember which clans were supposedly descended from which of the Sage's sons. He'd heard the myths, but he could never keep them straight. Which son was it that had believed in love, again? (He also quietly ignored the fact that he himself was also descended from the "wrong" son.)

Madara let out a huff of annoyance. "Of all the stupid requests," he muttered, stomping off to do whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. "I'd rather marry _you_ than an Uzumaki woman."

What?

Madara paused, turned back to Hashirama, and added, "No offense."

What? Where was the offense in that? Hashirama found nothing offensive. "None taken."

Hashirama spent the next couple of hours feeling like his heart had been replaced with a balloon. He was a bit too light-headed for his brain to be getting any actual blood. And it would certainly explain why he felt like he was floating.

For the next few days—during those brief moments when his heart slipped out of his mind's oppressive vice grip—he half-considered sending a letter of his own to Madara, just to see what would happen. But of course, he didn't. As long as he never asked, he could pretend that, if he had, maybe Madara would have accepted.

xxxxx

_RED EYED LOVE_

_Little Girl_

xxx

So why had the Will of Fire given Hashirama a dream of Madara confessing his love to him?

He only asked the question because he already knew the answer.

Which was why he dreaded talking to Madara. Which was why he had to talk to Madara.

Because, because... maybe Madara... maybe he also...

And _that_ was why Hashirama refused to hate himself yet. He still had hope, still had hope. In Hashirama's dream, Madara had asked, _did you ever wonder why I spend so much time in this office with you, Hashirama?_ They had gone through the same fights, the same battles. Hashirama had decided: he couldn't be alone in this.

And so...

Who cared if he was sick, if he was insane, if he was a man of dreams, if he was the most pitiful pitiable pervert in the world—who cared, if Madara loved him? If Madara loved him, then he was perfect. If Madara loved him, then he was the happiest man in the world. If Madara loved him, then nothing else mattered.

He had to find out.

"I haven't seen him yet, Hokage-sama," said one of the two Uchiha guards at the entrance to the complex. "I'm sure Madara will be at the Hokage Residence soon, though."

Hashirama shook his head. "Madara-sama said he was taking the day off."

"Oh. Really?" The guard shrugged helplessly. "Well, I don't know where he is."

The other guard said, "Wait, I think I saw him on my way here. He was having breakfast with a little girl."

Devastation.

"Should we go get him for you, Hokage-sama?"

_Devasta—_ wait.

What?

Hashirama mentally replayed the statement. The image which had immediately filled his mind—Madara Madara beautiful Madara and his beautiful beautiful red eyes and smile turned toward an (almost) equally beautiful Uchiha woman with beautiful red eyes—vanished.

Not a "girl," no, not just any girl—a child. _Not_ a woman. A _little_ girl. Hashirama's mental image was replaced by one of Madara turning his beautiful beautiful red eyes toward a happy little toddler. Which was an image Hashirama never would have thought to associate with Madara. But he couldn't say he didn't like it.

"Hokage-sama? Are you..."

"Wh... oh. N-no, I mean... no. You don't... no, don't bother him. Just... did you say... he was with a, er, little girl?"

The guard glanced at his partner for guidance, who didn't provide any. So he turned back to Hashirama. "Uh. Yes, sir."

"Who?" Hashirama asked. Since when did Madara associate with any little girls. "Another half-niece?"

"Half-daughter," the guard corrected. His partner shot him a dirty look.

Hashirama stared blankly at them both. Daughter? His mental image was revised again, to bring back the beautiful Uchiha woman and place her proudly over the little girl. But... "_Half_-daughter?"

"It's Uchiha business," the other guard said brusquely. "Did you want to leave a message with Madara, Hokage-sama?"

"No, no that's fine, that's... I was just... checking. On him. Don't worry about it. He's—I'll just... see him when he comes in."

Hashirama left. Quickly. Wondering what the hell just happened. And how he should interpret this.

He considered retreating to Tobirama's house to hide and try to figure out his own mind.

Instead, he returned to the Hokage Residence.

Where he hid and tried to figure out his own mind.

xxx

He did his paperwork automatically, skimming and approving or skimming and rejecting (nearly at random). Paperwork meant he didn't have to talk to people. He just had to flip from page to page, from thought to thought, with just enough room for a single thought to fit between pages:

What was wrong with him wrong with him wrong with him to think to think that Madara actually...?

But maybe Madara _did_, maybe maybe he still did, what else could the Will of Fire have been trying to say?

He was only with a little girl, just a child, that was all.

A half-daughter at that, what in the world was a _half_-daughter?

Why did Hashirama panic so much, why did it hurt so much to think that the girl might have been...?

But of course it would hurt to discover some lover, if he had thought that, if he had expected that, if he had thought that Madara might—that the Will of Fire was trying to say he was in—in... and with... with _Hashirama_...

But he shouldn't have _thought_ that, he shouldn't have _cared_, he shouldn't have—and so, and so why _had_ he?

So Madara was possibly still single, so he wasn't accounted for, so what difference did that make to Hashirama? Wasn't what he was doing here still, still—still _wrong_? He was left shaken to the core by the mere suggestion that Madara might have been involved with another woman—

Er, no, not—not with _another_ woman, but with... with _a_ woman. Not to suggest, of course, that Hashirama was... a... well. He was certainly acting as silly as a schoolgirl, wasn't he? Man of dreams that he was. Endlessly fantasizing, endlessly obsessing, endlessly lusting, endlessly endlessly over and over and over and...

But what if Madara felt the same? Wouldn't it be all right if Madara felt the same? If the Will of Fire had been trying to tell him that... that Madara was... what if he _was_? Oh, yes, yes, Hashirama was messed up, he was sick and something was wrong with him, wrong with him—but if Madara, _Madara_ felt the same way, how wrong could it be? Did it matter if Hashirama was—no, if they both were messed up, if, if only Hashirama could reach out for Madara, and Madara reached back...

A man of dreams was the most pitiful and pitiable of perverts, a man who would lust after anyone and anything, a man who was willing to bang anything on two legs, but Hashirama would have been satisfied if only—oh, please, _please_ if only—if only he could hold Madara, smell him, taste him, that was all, he didn't need anything more than that, that was all. Then what, what, what kind of a man of dreams was he? He wasn't, he wasn't desperate for _anyone_, was he? Only Madara. The touch of his skin, the scent of his hair, the taste of his mouth, that was all. That was all he wanted, and how wrong could that be—_if Madara wanted it too_? Then Hashirama wasn't just a man of dreams, was he, was he? Then he was simply, he was simply—

"I'm in love," he murmured, so softly, to himself, just to test the words, to taste them, to see how they felt. "I love Uchiha Madara."

The words were bitter, bitter, Hashirama had been ashamed too long for them to not be bitter—but they were sweet, too. So sweet they almost burned the back of his throat, a sweetness so potent it almost made him nauseous—hope. Bittersweet, that shamehope. It was the exact way he'd thought love would taste, love at its very worst—bittersweet, yes, but with enough sweet to make the bitter tolerable.

It occurred to him that he'd completely stopped doing paperwork. He resumed.

He wondered again what a half-daughter was.

It occurred to him that he did not care in the slightest about the paperwork.

He looked around his office, and everything red caught his eye, everything red seemed so bright—the red of Madara's eyes, the red of love. Throughout the office he could see everything that Madara had touched, everywhere Madara had been, his presence lingered in the room like the scent of smoke after a fire.

_Did you ever wonder why I spend so much time in this office with you, Hashirama?_

The dream had meant something, it had meant something, he was sure. But did it actually mean that Madara was, that Madara was—why was Hashirama tearing himself up over this, this was so so so _stupid_ so _sick_ so _insane_ what was wrong with him what was _wrong_ with—

It occurred to him that he did not care in the slightest about what was wrong with him.

So this was what it was like, to be in love.

xxx

Four hours had passed when somebody came into his office.

"_Madara-sama?_" That was Hashirama.

"Morning." And that was the most beautiful man in the world who was _possibly also in love with Hashirama_ oh heavens yes please. He marched into the room like he owned it and half-leaned half-sat against the front of the desk, turned sideways so he could see Hashirama. He took one look at Hashirama's face, and said, "Did I come at a bad time?" He glanced down at the papers on Hashirama's desk.

Hashirama looked down as well, to make sure he hadn't done something stupid like doodle Madara's name all over his paperwork. He hadn't. Of course he hadn't. Why would he do that? That was silly. He would never. (He looked down a second time to be sure.) "Uh, n-no, not at all. I just... didn't expect to see you here on your day off." _Did you ever wonder why I spend so much time in this office with you, Hashirama?_ Please, please...

"I heard you came by looking for me, Hokage-sama."

"Oh," Hashirama said. He felt stupid. "Yes. I was... it was a... don't worry about it. You can get to it tomorrow." Hashirama wondered what on earth he was going to tell Madara he'd been trying to say to him today. (Should he just say that it was—?) "I didn't want to interrupt your breakfast with your half-daughter. I didn't even know you had one." Hopefully that would keep Madara from asking why Hashirama had wanted to see him.

Madara snorted. "I usually just call her my cousin," he said. "Do you even know what a half-daughter is?"

"No." The look in Madara's (beautiful beautiful _beautiful_) eyes suggested he wasn't going to explain, so Hashirama took a wild guess. "Your half-sister's niece?"

Madara actually laughed. "My half-daughter is still my half-sister's half-niece," he said. "Unless she wasn't related to the original father, in which case my half daughter would be my half-sister's quarter-niece."

Even under normal conditions, that would have befuddled Hashirama. As it was, he could only stare at Madara, completely discombobulated by that laugh. (But something in that wording ticked at Hashirama's brain, made him quietly discard his mental image of Madara and some woman and some little girl and replace it with one of some man and some woman and some little girl, which they handed over to Madara.) A hopeful voice from somewhere deep inside Hashirama cried out _I can make him smile, I can make him laugh, maybe he, maybe he..._ "I'll take your word for it."

Another chuckle from Madara. And with that success emboldening him, Hashirama decided to just go ahead and ask a stupid question. "Why don't you ever bring her here?"

Madara's expression was just barely on the shocked side of scandalized. "_Here?_ And, what, just leave her in the little day care you've got set up downstairs, with all the other children?" He said that as though he thought the other children would contaminate his precious half-daughter.

"You could bring her up here, if you wanted."

Madara glanced around the office (as though he didn't know full well what it looked like) and then back at Hashirama. Puzzled. "Why?"

"Why not? I'm sure it wouldn't be an inconvenience," Hashirama said. "Besides, I like" you. "kids." Wait, which had he said? Had he said kids? He _had_ said kids, hadn't he?

Madara didn't look any more puzzled; he'd probably said kids. "Having a seven-year-old running around in your office wouldn't be terribly... professional."

Hashirama shrugged. "Who cares about looking professional, anyway? Most of the time, the only ones in here are you and me."

It wasn't until the words had already slipped out that Hashirama realized how they sounded—what they meant. They meant that, when Hashirama and Madara were in the office together, it wasn't a professional environment. Which meant that it was informal, that it was, it was, it was familiar, it was friendly, it was... How would Madara interpret it? What would Madara think he meant by it? Ninja were accustomed to reading underneath the underneath, to finding the hidden meanings, and what if Madara saw it, and what if he didn't feel the same, and—

Madara smiled.

It wasn't until long after Madara's mouth stopped moving that Hashirama caught up with what he'd been saying: "Sure. I'll bring her by sometime." He headed for the door.

Oh, no, no, Hashirama wasn't ready for Madara to leave yet. He stood. "Madara-sama!" And... tried to think of something to say. Now that Madara had stopped. Now that Madara was looking at him again (with those _eyes_). What did he say? _Why do you spend so much time in this office?_ No. But what else could he... "Was your brother her real father?"

He didn't know why he asked that. Well, no, actually, he did. The way Madara had referred to his half-daughter's "original father" as though her father had somehow changed; and that tangle of lines he'd seen, so long ago, on that chart in the Uchiha complex—an arrow, an X, an O, an X, dotted lines, solid lines, scrawled between Izuna and Madara and branching out to another person... And the look on Madara's face said he was right.

He seemed surprised. Hesitated, and almost didn't answer. But then he dropped his gaze. (Hashirama tried to remember if he'd ever seen Madara look down before.) "I don't know," he said. "We all think he is, but he never told me before he died. And the mother won't say." He shrugged. "Officially, she's only my cousin. But I try to treat her like a half-daughter, since..." He made a vague gesture that, Hashirama supposed, could have been meant to indicate his eyes.

He looked up again—for a moment, Hashirama saw a pain in Madara's eyes, a sharp, sharp pain—but he put on a wry smile, and attempted to lighten the mood. "Anyway," he said, "I can at least say with full confidence that she's not mine." If he'd wanted to derail the previous conversation, he had most definitely succeeded.

Hashirama laughed at that. Awkwardly. Was Madara actually bring up his _sex life_? To _Hashirama_? What was he supposed to do with _this_? Did he pretend Madara didn't say anything, or express pity, or congratulations, or...?

Or. Well. Why not just ask the question he'd been dying to ask anyway. "Then, er, do you mean, you've never...?" The part of Hashirama's mind that held the parasite, the part that endlessly criticized him, that tore him down, immediately started screaming _HOW COULD YOU ASK SOMETHING LIKE THAT, HOW COULD YOU BE SO PERVERTED, IS THAT ALL THAT MATTERS TO YOU, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU WRONG WITH YOU WRONG WITH YOU_

"No," Madara said. "Not with a woman."

The parasite immediately shut up.

And Hashirama's brain shut down.

"What?"

"To prevent accidental pregnancies. I haven't got time to look after _one_ half-daughter, I don't need any more offspring yet," Madara said. "In any case, Uchiha men aren't allowed to sleep with non-Uchiha women. And vice-versa." He gave Hashirama a sharp look and a sly smirk. "My clan actually tries to maintain its kekkei genkai, you see."

"Then," Hashirama said, trying desperately to get his mental facilities up and running again, "you've... had..." he tried to think of a word a _little_ more tactful than "sex," failed, and just skipped it, "with...?"

"'With...?'" Madara echoed. His eyes narrowed slightly, defensively.

"Er." Hashirama started to illustrate by gesturing at himself, realized that would be a very bad idea, and finally managed to choke out, "Men?"

Madara's shoulders were tense, his neck was tense, his jaw was tense. "Is there a problem?" he demanded. "I know it's not what _your_ clan does..."

"No, no, it's fine!" Hashirama said quickly. Fighting the urge to smile. Fighting the urge to thank Madara—for what, exactly? Fighting the urge to vault over his desk and get down on his knees and beg Madara to show him what it was he had done with those other unknown men. "Really. There's no problem. It's great—I mean... fine. I just... I didn't know you were a, er... a... man of dreams." Something inside Hashirama wept for sheer joy. He still wasn't smiling, right? Almost.

"I'm a what?" From the expression on his face, Madara had never even heard of a "man of dreams" before.

"Nothing," Hashirama said, "just a phrase. Folk tale. Thing. Don't worry about it."

Madara's eyes looked confused. Like he was gazing at some sort of puzzle, like he had all the pieces but couldn't quite see how they all—fit—together—

Something in Madara's eyes clicked into place. And his eyes were filled with a bright, glorious, _beautiful_ realization.

And then Hashirama realized where Madara was gazing (_straight into Hashirama's eyes_ yesyesyes), and thus, what it was that Madara had probably just realized. He quickly looked down at his desk. Paperwork. What was _paperwork_ doing here? Hashirama was in love with Madara, he had no use for paperwork!

"I'll assume that's a compliment," Madara finally said, and then headed for the door. Hashirama didn't call him back. He had run out of excuses to make Madara stay, and besides, if Madara _had_ just figured out... he'd know full well why Hashirama was calling him back, and Hashirama didn't want to look desperate or clingy or, or—and Hashirama didn't even know what Madara thought of all this yet, sure he hadn't flown into a rage but was he disgusted? Was he flattered? Was he apathetic? Was he, was he (_please!_) interested...? "I'll leave you to your work, Hokage-sama. I've wasted enough of your time."

"No, not at all," Hashirama murmured, which was as close as he could let himself get to saying _you're never a waste of time, every second with you is precious, stay forever!_ "I'll see you tomorrow." _I'm running on two hours' sleep but I probably won't be able to sleep tonight, and if I do I'll dream about you and your eyes!_

Madara stopped at the door. "Actually," he said, "I was thinking about stopping by for lunch. If it wouldn't inconvenience you."

Hashirama looked up. Madara was glancing back at him over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes said _and I think we both know damn well it wouldn't be an inconvenience_. "Really?" Hashirama said. "Uh, that would be fine. Sure. Why?"

"You wanted to meet my half-daughter, didn't you?"

The part of Hashirama's mind that had thought "lunch" was a euphemism and already invented appropriate mental images was sorely disappointed. (He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up anyway. Why would Madara offer something like that? Why would Hashirama suspect he was offering something like that? What was wrong with him? Oh, whatever.) On the other hand, Hashirama _did_ like kids. It wasn't a total loss.

"I meant, it's your day off," Hashirama said. _Did you ever wonder why I spend so much time in this office with you, Hashirama?_ "Why do you spend so much of your free time here?"

Madara paused, just the briefest of moments, before answering. "Because I enjoy the company."

That was good enough for Hashirama. There were fireworks and music behind his eyes, and it was a good thing Madara had turned away because Hashirama was grinning like the lovesick fool he was and he no longer cared.

"By the way," Madara said lightly, as though this were an afterthought that wasn't even worth eye contact. "You know my history now. It's only fair that you divulge yours."

"History?" Hashirama said blankly. Still grinning. _Madara enjoyed his company_.

Madara clarified, "Have you ever been with someone?" That was the most vague way of asking Hashirama had ever heard. He wished he'd remembered it earlier. "I'd assume you have, at _your_ age, but I've heard rumors..." (Yes, Hashirama was sure that about half the village had heard rumors. And yet everyone still acted surprised when he confirmed them.)

"Nope!" he said cheerfully. "No one. Never. Woman _or_ man."

"Is that so?" Madara didn't seem surprised. Honestly, he sounded more amused. "Well. That's too bad."

The door shut behind him.

Hashirama stared at the door.

"Too bad"? What did "too bad" mean? Did it mean Madara pitied him? Did it mean Madara was disappointed in him? Did it mean Madara wanted nothing to do with someone so inexperienced? Did it mean Madara wanted to help rectify this terrible situation? Did it mean Madara was just trying to confuse him?

Hashirama slouched back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. He didn't have enough sleep to be thinking about this. He'd barely been asleep long enough to have that dream—praise the Will of Fire a thousand million times over, it had been right, it had been right about Madara.

Lunch. What time was it? Hashirama leaned his chair back, trying to look out the window at the sun, and almost lost balance. Probably wasn't noon yet. But lunch would be soon. Was Madara planning on bringing something or was Hashirama supposed to plan lunch? He should probably provide something. What did Madara like, anyway? How could Hashirama possibly not know what Madara liked! He was pretty sure Madara didn't like roe. Okay. That was something. And he'd seen Madara eat sushi before. So that was safe. What kind of sushi did Madara like? What kinds of sushi _were_ there? As far as Hashirama was concerned they were all the same. What was the difference! Who would know? Tobirama would know, he ate sushi. Would he have any idea what kind Madara liked? And if he did know, would he actually answer honestly if Hashirama asked, or would he suggest something Madara would hate? How in the world would Hashirama explain to Tobirama why he wanted to know what kind of sushi Madara liked?

Would Madara even care? Hashirama laughed weakly at himself. Madara wasn't coming for a five-star meal. He was coming to show off his half-daughter. And because he enjoyed Hashirama's company. And it wasn't like he and Hashirama hadn't had lunch together before, they'd eaten together many, many times. (Because _Madara enjoyed Hashirama's company_.) Then again, that didn't mean Hashirama couldn't _try_ to track down a five-star meal.

Hashirama stood to leave and find some lunch. (The paperwork, for all _he_ cared, could just sign _itself_.) He glanced out the window, trying to get a more accurate estimate of the time.

The sky was so blue, and the buildings were so bright, so vivid. Every red roof stood out to him. Hashirama looked down at the streets, wondering if he might get a glimpse of Madara heading from the Hokage Residence to the Uchiha complex. He didn't. This didn't bother him in the slightest. After all, he was going to have lunch with Madara and Madara had been with men and Madara wasn't disgusted by how Hashirama felt and Madara enjoyed his company and Madara was _beautiful_ and Hashirama loved him...

So this was what it was like, to be in love.

It was even better than in his dreams.

xxxxx

**The End**

xxxxx


End file.
